


Blink

by ficdirectory



Series: Disuphere series [2]
Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cerebral Palsy, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Food Issues, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Self-Harm, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 137,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Three years after escaping his kidnapper, Jesus goes on an impromptu winter vacation with his family and comes face to face with the places and circumstances of his captivity for the first time.  As Jesus deals with triggers, and his own grief, he finds support and understanding in the mysterious neighbor living in the cabin next door.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s Christmas night, 2014.  Jesus Foster sits on the floor of his room.  All his Christmas gifts are around him, but he can’t look away from the damn picture.  From Isaac’s face.  He’s smiling.  Catching snowflakes on his tongue.

The picture meant he’d been happy once, not long before his life was ripped apart.

This is what Jesus knows for sure:

Jesus and Isaac were both kidnapped.  Jesus first.  September 7, 2007.  Isaac on Christmas night, 2009.  On Isaac’s 12th birthday, he had asked Jesus to write a letter to his mom.  Jesus made it out.  Isaac almost made it.  Jesus had finally sent the letter Isaac wanted him to send.  Isaac’s mom had just written back.  Sent a short note, and a picture of Isaac that looked almost nothing like the boy he had known.

It’s given Jesus a different context for Isaac.  It’s let him start to think about him outside of Then.  Outside of chains.  Outside of There.

There’s a knock on his doorframe, and he shoves the picture of Isaac carefully under his yellow fleece blanket.  Mom says from the hallway, “I’m putting the house to bed.  Coming out to make sure everything’s the way you need it?”

Ever since Jesus got home when he was thirteen, he and Stef (she’d been Stef then, until he got comfortable saying Mom) made it a thing to check the house together.  It’s made him feel more secure since after he got back, Jesus still believed everything He said about coming back and killing Jesus, or taking Mariana instead.  He has to check the house or he can’t sleep.  But tonight, he’s pretty sure his trauma’s just not gonna let him.

Jesus wants to say yes, but sometimes memories still grab him by the throat.  Like being handcuffed on Christmas.  Chained to a pole on major winter holidays, without enough food or water.  Usually, Mom being a cop is reassuring.  But right now, it’s putting him on edge.

Because it means she has handcuffs.  And that means he is nervous as hell that she’ll use them on him, even though that doesn’t make sense.  Mom is so not Him.  But his trauma doesn’t have to make sense.  It exists.  And it’s irrational.  And it’s annoying.  And it pisses him off.  Because why shouldn’t he get to hang out with his mom on Christmas if he wants to?

But he can’t.

Because he can’t have her near him.

Because of the handcuffs.

Right about now, Jesus can’t say no.  He’s stuck between standing up and walking through the curtain of beads that functions as a door…just doing what she wants…and ignoring her.  Because he can’t say no.

In the end, he stays where he is.  So much better to have her think he’s a typical teenager who’s not listening than one who will come to her and go mentally blank because of the stress of being near somebody who has the potential to handcuff him.

“Okay,” Mom says, taking his lack of movement and response, as he organizes his stuff intentionally.  “Well, I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Jesus swallows.  His hand stills on the giant pillow Grams gave him.  He’s waiting to see what she’ll say next.

“See you in the morning, okay, love?”

“Yeah,” he manages finally.  “Okay.”

She leaves, and he hates himself a little for not acknowledging her.  His mom is one of the best people in the world.  Definitely in his life.  She will always be the one who came for him.  Believed him.  Took him home.  Her presence usually means safety.  Tomorrow, it will again.  But for tonight, it’s still a holiday.  Jesus is still fighting memories.

After Mom’s done with her walk-through, Jesus heads down the hall.  Should really swing by the bathroom, but he’s not ready for that yet.  Instead, he stops by Mariana’s bedroom door.  (They’re twins.  Sixteen.)  She shares a room with Callie who’s seventeen and Frankie who’s four.  He has two brothers across the hall.  Brandon’s eighteen and Jude’s fourteen.  He’s closest to Mariana and Frankie.

Frankie’s asleep right now, but he can hear lowered voices of Mari and Callie talking inside.  Jesus sits with his back to the door.  Takes out his phone:

_Will u sit by the door?_

Jesus listens but not really, as Mariana keeps talking.  He can feel it, hear it, sense it, when she leans on the door and slides down it.  They’re back to back, but not really.

He sees her hand inch under the crack in the door and stay there beside him.  He takes it.  Holds on.  Listens to his sis talk about how she’s gonna make space in her closet for all her new clothes.  It’s comforting knowing she’s right here.

His phone buzzes:

_I can come out if u want._

He has a thing about doors.  (Being locked in a house for four years of your life will do that.)

But he squeezes her hand twice for no.  He’d rather just do this.  He can’t face her now.  Can’t face anybody.  But this is okay.

Mama walks by and smiles at him.  “Night, bud.  You okay?” she asks softly.

“Yeah.  I’m okay,” he nods.  Mama’s not a cop, so she’s safe tonight.  No triggers.  He loves how she’s always so in tune with him and what he might need.

“I can sit with you, if you’d like,” she offers.

“No, thanks.  Mariana’s with me.”

Mama smiles, catching sight of their joined hands, under the girls’ bedroom door.  “I see that.  Okay.  If you need us tonight, will you send us a text or something?”

“Okay,” he nods, but he’s not totally sure he can do it.  He just kind of feels safer saying okay and yeah.  It’s like how he used to feel when he first came back.  Jesus swallows.  Squeezes Mariana’s hand.

She squeezes back.

Mama walks past and the hall lights go dark.  (A habit on Mama’s part.)  Jesus goes from okay to Level 2 panic where he imagines a Facebook game about cookies to cope.  It’s what he did Then, in the dark.  When he was chained and trying to deal with not having food or water, or anything at all to keep warm.

He rocks back against the door once.  Hard.

_Thunk._

“Jesus, I’m coming out,” Mari says softly.

“Jesus?  What’s he doing out there?  How long has he been there?  Has he been listening?”

“Callie.  Settle.  I gotta see about Jesus,” Mari whispers and then eases the door open.

He jerks forward to keep from falling backward into her room.  Bedrooms are private.  He can’t go in other people’s or tolerate anyone in his.  He still feels blank.

She flips on the hall light again.  It stabs his eyes and he flinches.  It takes him right back to fifth grade and Mrs. Smith’s class, when he couldn’t even sit up when the lights were on.

He rests his head on his raised knees.  The only position even kind of comfortable when he was chained in the dark basement Then.  He can move, but it doesn’t feel like he can move.  He feels stuck.  Again.

“Jesus?”

He doesn’t move.  He’d been Josh then, not Jesus.  Never Jesus.  

“Callie, come out here.”

He keeps his head down.  Blocking the light.  (Trying to sleep?)  He’s not sure where he is so he stays quiet til he figures it out.  He doesn’t hear the rest of what’s said.  His ears are full of that rushing sound he gets with panic.  He’s gotten to Level 3 just like that.  He’s not ready for this.  Not so soon.  

“Can you sit up?” a voice coaxes.  It sounds far off.  Echoey.  But he does what it says, even though the light hurts.

All of a sudden, his arms are full.  His lap is full.  He can feel his body again.  He blinks:

“Frankie…” he breathes.

“Yeah. Frankie’s here.  So you’re okay,” Mariana reassures.

Frankie’s a loud sleeper.  She snores and sprawls and she’s heavy for only being 35 pounds.  In short, she is impossible to ignore.  Jesus holds her close.  Rocks her.  Mariana stays.  He thinks Callie might be gone, but she comes back with Jesus’s yellow fleece blanket.  Mariana drapes it over his shoulders.

“Take some deep breaths,” Callie coaches.

Jesus does.  And it helps.

He feels less like puking his guts out.  Jesus glances at the time and sees the reason for his reaction.  It’s exactly the time five years ago that he heard the sounds of another boy (Isaac) being brought into That House.

Jesus holds Frankie close.

Even with the picture of Isaac, tonight’s hard.

Mariana sits close, and starts singing so softly, Jesus isn’t even sure he’s hearing her right:

“ _So it’s up to you and it’s up to me that we meet in the middle on our way back down to earth.  Down to earth.  Down to earth…_ ”

Jesus smiles, just a little.  Callie’s come in on some lower harmony, and Frankie doesn’t even stir. But he gets the message they are sending loud and clear.  “We’re here.  Now ground yourself.”

So he presses his feet down.  Breathes deep and listens to his sisters’ voices.  They anchor him.  It works.

So they sit together, until Jesus is ready to move again.


	2. Chapter 2

“How are the kids?” Lena asks as Stef walks back into the bedroom after locking up.

“Well, Jesus didn’t wanna come with me to give the house a once-over…” Stef ventures.

“He’s okay.  I saw him sitting outside the girls’ room, holding hands with Mari under the door.”

Stef smiles and shakes her head.  “Okay.  Whatever works for him, I guess.  He’s fine as long as I don’t go near him.  And everybody else is at least in their rooms.”

Lena pats the bed and Stef comes over, crawling close to her wife.  “Jesus is going to be fine.  Give him a day.  Tomorrow, he’ll be better.  Christmas is tough for him.”

“Just always hits me when he blatantly ignores me…because we know what it means.  I never wanna pressure him into doing anything he’s not ready for, but I know he needs to walk through the house with me, making sure everything is locked to feel secure.  It’s a catch-22.”

“It is,” Lena nods.  Her eyes drift to Stef’s bedside table where a red envelope with a gaudy gold bow sits.  “Honey, what’s that?  I thought we opened everything.”

“Oh.  From my mom.  She usually sends a check, and maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I’m not a huge fan of opening up money in front of the kids.”

“You mean so Jude can ask how much it is and talk about how rich Grandma Sharon is?” Lena quips.

Stef gives a rueful smile and rips open the envelope.  Shakes out a key.  Opens the card, and reads under her breath.

“ _Dear Stefanie, Lena and kids, I know Jesus isn’t a fan of keys but I figured he might like this one if he knew what it was for.  Same with all of you.  This is the key to Frank’s cabin in Minnesota…_.”  Stef trails off and gapes comically at Lena.  Stef keeps reading at regular volume now:  “ _He’s all for letting that place get some use.  He fixed it up and hardly ever goes there in the winter months.  So, have at it_.”

Stef does a double take, checking the larger manila envelope her mom’s card arrived in.  Her face shines, and then falls just as quickly.

“What is it?” Lena asks, coming closer.

“Plane tickets,” Stef manages.  “For Sunday to Sunday, in my dad’s beautiful cabin.”

“That’s amazing.  Honey, why do you look so sad?”

That’s all it takes for Stef’s face to crumble.  For Lena to come beside her, to wrap her arms around her.  For several minutes, she just cries quietly, and then, when she has control of herself, Stef manages: “I just…really need a vacation.  But there’s no way.  Six kids to a cabin in the middle of nowhere for eight days?  How is Jesus going to do?  And Frankie?  Mariana doesn’t like camping.  Brandon’s totally over hanging out with us.”

“Stef, your dad’s cabin’s not exactly rustic.  He just remodeled.  Everything’s modern.  New.  Nice.  That should ease Mariana’s mind.  Jesus and Frankie will make it work.  I know it’s short notice, love, but I can see how much you need this.  You want to go.”

“I really do…” Stef manages.

“Then we’ll make it work,” Lena promises.  “Besides, think about it.  In three days, you, me, and the kids could be having a blast.  I don’t know if they’ve ever seen snow.  Think about it.  All of us outside building a snowman.”

“…My dad has snowmobiles…” Stef’s eyes light up at the idea.

“Does he have helmets?”

“Yes, love, he does,” Stef says, bending down to kiss Lena deeply.

“I’ll pass on the snowmobiles, but you are more than welcome to keep thinking about them.”

“Mmm…  Really?” Stef hums.

“Really.”

“When are we gonna tell the kids?”

“Tomorrow,” Lena decides, “and we should give Jesus a heads-up separately, I think.

“You read my mind,” Stef says, and bends down to kiss her again.

**Deerwood, Minnesota**

Pearl curls up on her couch with her heated blanket.  She can see a small collection of Christmas cards on the opposite wall.  From Mom.  From her two best friends.  It would seem lonely here, except Pearl needs this.  She needs space.  She needs to just be.

She knows everyone in town, but no one really knows her.  They see her out and about, always with Gracie, her fox red labrador.  For now, Gracie’s content to maul a brand-new bone that she just got for Christmas.  Pearl doesn’t need much, but she loves shopping for Gracie.  Loves seeing her tail wag at the sight of a new toy or a treat.

Pearl’s more than happy with her own gifts: a new hat, scarf, shades and a space heater.  The shades were a gift to herself.  The heater from Mom (always practical, not wanting Pearl to freeze in the below-zero temperatures.)  The hat and the scarf came from Pearl’s two best friends, who live states away, but connect with her by letter, Skype or text.

There is no tree, for no other reason than trees are a lot of work.  And trees for one person and one dog just don’t make much sense.  The tree skirt is out, because Gracie loves it.  She thinks it’s a new blanket just for her.  Pearl doesn’t mind.  Kind of thinks it’s cute.  Gracie can have whatever she wants.  She gives Pearl so much.  

Today’s been nice.  Simple.  Quiet.  Just the way she likes it.  A little TV in the morning (A Christmas Story marathon is the family habit she can’t break, despite having been on her own for a decade.)  She stopped after one viewing and let Gracie open gifts.  She opened her own.

She sips her tea and checks Skype for Char or Pav, but both have families and are with them today.

The cabin next door is dark and empty.  Her closest neighbor, Frank, is only around in the summers.  There is no one else for miles around.  Still, when Pearl turns in for the night, she doesn’t bother locking the door.

If someone’s got it on their mind to mess with her, no amount of security’s gonna protect her.  Let them come.  

Let them try it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Jesus,” Mama whispers.  “What are you doing out here?  Are you okay?”

Groggily, Jesus blinks awake.  Slowly, last night comes back to him.  Losing it in the dark hallway.  Coming back holding Frankie.  Now, it’s just him and Mariana.  She sleeps close.  Her head pillowed on one of his arms.  He has almost no feeling in it, but he’d feel bad moving and waking her up.

“Yeah.  I’m okay.  We just fell asleep talking.”

He doesn’t know why he’s lying.  It doesn’t make sense, and it’s one of the grossest leftovers of living four years in super hell.  The lying had become like second nature by the end.  Sometimes, it’s still hard to tell if it’s because of that, or just a regular innocent lie people tell.  Jesus hates not knowing which it is.  If he’s horrible or okay as a person.  If he’s a person or a warm body.

“Go back to sleep,” Mama urges and he wants to laugh.  Because there’s no way.  Instead he slides his arm out from under Mariana’s head and covers her with a blanket before following Mama downstairs.

Jesus likes the quiet in the house before everybody else is up.  Winter break, with everybody home all the time, has been hard to get used to.  

He’s dumping old coffee grounds out into the trash before it really dawns on him what he’s doing.  Not until he turns to go back to the coffee maker and Mama is standing there.

“I have this, bud.  Sit down, okay?”

She says it like it’s fine, but Jesus’s ears burn hot.  All this time and he still catches himself doing kitchen chores if he’s not careful.  It’s something he used to have to do Then, and if he does it here, it can mean big trouble for his trauma, especially if his fam lets it go unchecked.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.  I love my poem, by the way,” she says, referencing the gift Jesus gave everybody in the family.  Haikus about each of them.

“Yeah?” he asks.  

“Yes.”  She comes and sits down next to him.  “I like the words you chose to rhyme.  I remember that day like it was yesterday.”

“Me, too,” he nods.  He had only been home two months when he had sat down with Lena and talked about the book Where The Wild Things Are, while she held him.  It was the first time he could let her.  One of the first times he felt safe letting an adult touch him, after everything Then.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jesus swallows.  Tries not to jump to conclusions.  To think he’s in trouble.  

She must see it on his face, though, because she says, “You’re not in trouble, bud, okay?  It’s a family thing.  Something we’d like to do together.”

“What?” he asks carefully.  He still can’t let his guard down totally.

“Well, Grandma Sharon gave us all plane tickets to spend a week in Grandpa Frank’s cabin.”

“Isn’t that in Wisconsin or something?” he makes a face.  Wisconsin’s way far away.  And cold.

“Minnesota,” she clarifies.

“Hmm…” Jesus muses.  “Would I come, too?”

“You’re a part of us, honey.  Yes, you’d come…unless it’s not something you feel comfortable doing.”

“Then what, though?  Grandma spent money on tickets we wouldn’t use?  That seems kinda rude.  I mean, if I didn’t wanna go, you guys could go without me.”

“No, we couldn’t.  We don’t leave family behind, love,” Lena said patiently.  “We’re waiting to tell everyone else until we had a chance to talk to you first.  To see how you feel.”

“Is there snow?” he asks hopefully.  He’s thinking of the picture of Isaac.  The last fun thing he did.  He really wanted to see snow.  That’s what his mom had said.  This way, maybe Jesus could see it, too, and it would kinda be like they were together, if they were both doing the same thing, even if it wasn’t at the same time.

“I’m sure there is, yes,” Mama smiles.

“Can we do stuff in it?” he asks.

“Sure, we can,” Mama nods.

“Can I bring stuff from home?” he checks.

“Of course.  We’ll pack everything we need before we go.  One of us will help you, okay, so you don’t have to worry about that.  We’ll bring clothes, toothbrushes, everything, okay?”

“Food?”

“Sure.  I think Mom and I are gonna sit down with the rest of the kids after breakfast to tell them.  Then you can decide who you’d like to help you pack.”

“Okay,” he nods.

Since cinnamon rolls are still baking in the oven, Jesus goes to his room and grabs some clothes and a quick shower.  He plays the cover of Wintersong that Brandon did on YouTube.  When he’s downstairs again, so is everyone else.  Frankie is covered in icing.  Everybody’s already eating.  Jesus hesitates.

“Morning, my sweet,” Mom says, pulling a chair out for Jesus.  “Sit down.  Have a cinnamon roll.”

Jude’s crabby and half asleep.  Mariana is looking rough from a night sleeping on the hardwood floor in the hallway.  Jesus feels a twinge of regret.  He sits down and picks at his cinnamon roll.

“I heared us all singing in the bathroom,” Frankie reports.

“You did?  How’d we sound?” Mama asks.

“Good.  ‘Specially you, Mama.  You sing the best of anyone.”

Jesus remembers Mari and Callie singing him some old Justin Bieber song last night.  (His sisters can seriously make anything sound cool.)

“Well, thank you so much,” Mama smiles.

After breakfast is eaten, Mom keeps everybody at the table an extra few minutes, telling them about the big surprise gift from Grandma (and Grandpa.)  Frankie goes nuts, talking about building an Olaf snowman, and asking everybody if they want to build a snowman.

“We’re going to vacation in the woods?” Mariana asks skeptically.  “In the winter?  In Minnesota?”

“You know, people usually go where it’s warm to vacation,” Callie points out.

“We live where it’s warm right now, genius,” Brandon puts in.

“Yes, we’re going to vacation in the woods.  Grandpa has a very nice cabin that he and Grandma are letting us use.”

“Jude?” Callie asks, nudging him.  “What do you think?”

“Bears…” he mumbles.

“Bears hibernate in the winter, Jude.  Don’t you know?” Frankie asks.

“We leave Sunday morning.  Early.  So we need to pack everything we’ll need over today and tomorrow.  Eight sets of clothes.  Pajamas.  Yes?”  Mom asks rhetorically.  She lowers her voice and asks, “Jesus, who would you like to help you pack?”

“Maybe Mariana?” he whispers.

“Mariana and Callie, come here, please,” Mom directs after dismissing everyone else to get going and clean the kitchen.

Mariana heaves a sigh.  “Mom, I know how to pack a bag…” she says, a little testily.

“I know you do.  And because you’re so skilled, I need to know if you’ll help Jesus pack, too.  And Callie, can you do the same for Frankie?”

“Yeah, of course,” Callie says and Mariana nods.

“Okay, I should call Dad and let him know we’ll be heading up there Sunday.  See if there’s anything we should know…”

On the way upstairs, Mari turns to him.  “So, what would you think if I just did this for you?  Is that okay?”

Jesus blinks.  “Is it okay for  _you_?”

(They were four when they packed their first bags.  Back then, he did the packing for both of them.  Jesus is pretty sure she remembers.  Is pretty sure this is her way of returning the favor.)

“Totally.  I got you, remember?”

He nods.  “Yeah.  I remember.”

**Deerwood, Minnesota**

Two days after Christmas, Pearl is back at work.  For her, this means on her couch, knitting a maroon and yellow scarf for a dog.  (Go, Gophers.)  Her Etsy shop,  _Pawsitive Knitting_ , makes winter wear for pets.  

“Gracie, come,” Pearl calls softly.  “I need to see how this looks on you.”  

Gently, she maneuvers the scarf onto the dog, who sits patiently, tail swishing back and forth.

“Well, you’re just about the prettiest girl  I’ve ever seen,” Pearl says, scratching Gracie behind the ears.

Pearl’s phone rings with an old-fashioned jingle that her grandparents’ phone had.  Must be an unknown.  She picks up.  Glances at the screen.

Nope.  Not an unknown.  Frank Cooper.

“Hey, Frank.”

“Hey, Pearl.  How are you?  How was your Christmas?”

“Fine, and yours?” she asks.  ( _What does he want?_   His first call to her is usually no earlier than May, inviting her over for dinner with any number of relatives or friends.  She never accepts.  She’s not a people person.  At least, not a people-in-large-groups person.)

“Nice, yeah, very nice.  Listen, I was wondering if you’d be around at all the coming week?”

_When am I not around?_  she thinks testily.  Instead, she says, “I think so, why?  You need something?”

“Well, my family’s heading up to spend a week there.  Just wanted to give you a heads-up that they’d be around.  I know it’s usually kinda quiet.”

“How big is your family?” Pearl asks, holding out a hand.  Gracie comes and nips at it, calming Pearl’s nervous tremor.  (She can’t knit dog scarves with shaky hands.)

“My daughter, her wife, and I got five - no six - grandkids.”

“Wow, yeah, no, thank you for the heads up.  I appreciate it.”

“Just wanted you to know they’d be there, not me.  My daughter’s Stef.  You’ve met her before.  Her wife’s Lena. Kids are teenagers, except the little one.”

“Okay.”

“You all right?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine.”   _Eight strangers coming tomorrow to invade my solitary life?  Sounds like a blast…_   “Thanks for the call, Frank.”

“You bet.”

“You bet…” Pearl breathes, hanging up the phone.  She tosses her knitting aside and holds her head in her hands.  She peeks at Gracie, who’s studying her closely.

“This is really gonna suck,” she tells the dog seriously.

Gracie comes and sits close by, resting her head in Pearl’s lap.  Pearl buries her face in the dog’s fur.


	4. Chapter 4

Because Mariana’s Mariana, and their fam always has a billion things going on, packing spills over into Saturday.

It doesn’t take Jesus long to realize that just having Mariana there to pack for him isn’t going to be enough.  Even though she’s got his overnight bag out of sight in the closet and doesn’t zip it without adequate warning, Brandon and Jude keep yelling “headphones!” at him every two seconds, so that he’ll know they wanna zip or unzip something.  

And it doesn’t take long for them to get sick of going that and just start zipping and unzipping with no warning at all.  It doesn’t matter that their door’s closed.  Jesus can still hear it.  It puts him on edge like nothing else.

“Just keep them on,” Mariana says, getting frustrated.

“What?”

“I said, just keep them on.  Your headphones.  It’ll be easier that way.”

“For me or you guys?” he asks, but puts the noise-canceling headphones back on.  Busies himself by putting as much of his coping stuff in his backpack as he can fit: his yellow fleece blanket from the cop who waited with him for Mom at the police station, a plastic bottle full of glitter that Frankie just gave him for Christmas, and the headphones will go in here, too.

Eventually, Mariana adds several individual Ziplocs labeled with his name and food inside: granola bars, crackers, trail mix and more.  Jesus stashes that, too, with some small bottles of water.  

Someone taps him on the shoulder, and Jesus jumps a foot.  “What?” he gasps, taking the headphones off.  

“Mom’s talking to you,” Mariana says.

“Jesus, bring your backpack out here, please.”

He stands.  Does.  Has no idea what this is about.

“Can you open it for me, please?”  

(Maybe it’s more food?)  

He does.  Waits.  She looks inside.  “Love, you can’t take your glitter through the airport, okay?  It’s a rule.  You’ll have to leave it here.”

“Yeah, okay.  I didn’t know.”

“And the bottles of water are fine in the airport, but once we board, they’ll make you dump them out, okay?  Just so you know what to expect.”

“I’ll dump it.  It’ll be fine.”

“Okay.  We thought you’d like some first-aid stuff to have with you.  Maybe a flashlight?”

“Cool,” he nods.

He’s about to go back into his room, when Callie appears with Frankie.  Both are smiling.

“I’m worried this might exceed the weight limit…” Callie laughs.  

It’s only then that it registers all the way:  Callie’s dragged an open suitcase out into the hall.  Frankie’s sitting in it.

“Don’t forget to pack  _me_ , you guys!” Frankie giggles.

Brandon’s there in a second, scooping Frankie out of the suitcase.  “You don’t get in suitcases.  That’s dangerous.  Suitcases are for things.  Not people.  Got it?”

“You just ruined my whole day.  How do you like  _that_?!” Frankie insists, turning to Mom, indignant.

“Brandon’s right,” she says.  (She’s definitely seen Jesus’s face by now.  How he’s gone pale and distant.)  “We don’t play in suitcases.  Older sisters should know that, right?” she asks Callie, clearing her throat.

“Headphones!” Jude calls.

“I’m out.” Jesus grinds, and takes off down the stairs.  It’s not until he’s on the porch that he can breathe.  Too many damn suitcases.  And his little sister playing in one like it’s just no big deal, when…

“Jesus, are you alright?” Mama asks quietly.

He’s pacing.  Short of breath.  Pissed.  Freaked.

“What’s it look like?” he snaps.

“Okay,” she says, and sits unobtrusively on the porch swing.  She takes out her phone and checks it while he tries to get himself together.  She knows sometimes it’s better to just give him quiet and space.  Sometimes more talking just makes him more anxious.

It takes a long time, but eventually, Jesus is sitting, too.  Near her.  “Sorry,” he apologizes, taking a deep breath, and letting it out slowly.

“I understand that this is a lot.  I need you to understand that no matter what you’re feeling, I am your mom, and I need you to talk to me with respect.  Make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Now.  Are you okay?”

“No.  The bags.”

“Okay.  We can sit out here for as long as you need.”

There’s quiet.  

“Is this a foster care trigger or something else?”

Jesus chokes on nothing.  Something Else had been his name for being messed with sexually, because at nine, he hadn’t known the word rape.

“Can you not say that?” he begs, trying to keep his composure.

Mama studies him but doesn’t speak.  The question’s all over her face.  She needs to know what she said, so she doesn’t say it again.

At a loss, he takes out his phone and texts her:

_Something Else_.  

“I can’t promise I won’t ever say it again, bud.  That’s a common phrase.  But I will do my best.  Know that if you hear it from me again, it’s not on purpose.  I do care about you.  I want you to feel safe and to know you are safe with us.  Does that make sense?”

Jesus nods.  He clears his throat.  “It’s not a foster care thing.”

“Okay,” is all Mama says back.

After that, they just sit until it gets too cold.  Mama shivers.  Neither of them brought coats or blankets.

In the end, they decide to go back inside.

“How are we gonna do snow if we can’t take winter in San Diego?” Jesus jokes lightly.

“You know, I have no idea.  We may have to pencil in a stop for winter jackets somewhere, what do you say?”

“Definitely,” he grins, holding the door open, and following Mama back inside.


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up at 6:00 in the morning is still a thing that comes way too naturally for Jesus.  He hasn’t really let himself think about how hard traveling might be.  But he wakes up on edge and stows his yellow fleece in his backpack, trying not to think of another morning three years ago.

Then, he’d had to do everything like usual. Jesus couldn’t let Him suspect anything.  Couldn’t let Him know that Jesus was really thinking about getting away.  Planning it.  That morning (and every morning he’d had access to an alarm clock) Jesus had gotten up at 6:00.  That Last Day, he had made sure his backpack had everything he wanted to take with him, but nothing that would make Him think Jesus was trying something.

Because of this, the minute Jesus sees the backpack, he gets a feeling in his gut.  Hypervigilance.  He kinda wishes they could change their minds and stay home, like he was thinking they would.  The luggage situation alone has been brutal.  He knows the minute he goes downstairs all the bags are just gonna be sitting there.  Perfect size for little boys to get hidden inside when an asshole steals them or worse.  (It’s why he couldn’t stand the sight of his little sis in one, even if she was just playing.)

Jesus showers because he’s not sure about the shower situation at Grandpa’s cabin.  He can hear everybody whining outside the door about him taking up all their time.  They have to be out the door by 6:30.  So Jesus tries to hurry.  But in the end, they are still rushing.  He hates rushing.  It makes him feel like his feet are gonna be yanked out from under him.  Like he might get killed.  It’s terrible.

But Jesus knows his family doesn’t have time for triggers this morning, so he shoves all his big reactions down deep.  Forces himself to keep a calm demeanor.  He gets in the car with Mama, since she’s the calmer driver, and Callie and Mariana are in there, too.  (Mom’s in the other car with Brandon, Jude and Frankie.)

He swallows.  He left the house without eating breakfast.  Just like Then.  Jesus takes a deep breath and locks down that thought, too.  He’s gone way longer without food.  Without water.  This is okay.  Moms love him and they make sure all of them can eat.  It just doesn’t feel like a sure thing right now.

Jesus hangs onto his backpack, which he’s got on so the straps are behind his shoulders, and the pack part is in front.  Mari and Callie are sleeping.  Jesus can never sleep in cars.  He looks out the window.  Mama’s tense about everything being last-minute and she keeps losing Mom, who stops a bunch.  (Frankie has to pee.  They need breakfast.)

Even though it’s nowhere near the ideal situation Jesus needs it to be, he accepts the breakfast sandwich and makes himself eat it, knowing it would be worse not to eat anything at all than to eat something, even if it reminds him, in every single way, of being There.

The crinkling of the wrappers fries Jesus’s nerves.  He stares at the napkin he got handed with the sandwich.  Still remembers how one of those felt in his mouth.  How it made him gag.  How he bit The Hand that did it.  How he got knocked out.

“Aren’t we almost there?” he asks after half an hour.  He knows they’re headed to an airport (part of Grandma’s gift was plane tickets), but they have to be almost there.

“LAX is a ways away yet, bud.”

LAX.  They’re going to  _LA_?  The same LA where he hid in plain sight for four years of his life?  The same LA where he went through actual hell?  Did Moms mention this, or is he just too dumb to connect the dots - to see the obvious?

“Okay,” he says, even though nothing is okay right now.

Jesus can feel himself getting a little more distant.  This time, he doesn’t try to stop it. He can’t make this damn drive again.  It’s too much.  He wants to go to sleep to cope but sleep has never been easy for him, and definitely not sleep in a car.  So he zones out, staring out the window.

This is really gonna suck.

**Deerwood, Minnesota**

Pearl hates crying because it makes her feel weak, but she can’t stop.  The idea of her safe space being invaded by people she doesn’t know has her emotionally wrecked.  If she can’t even trust people she does know, how is she gonna deal with eight strangers?  

She’s tried avoiding Gracie, but Gracie won’t have it and keeps pressing her nose into Pearl’s hand.  Even though Pearl’s wrapped around herself on the couch - knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them - Gracie’s on the couch beside her.  She’s allowed to do whatever necessary so Pearl can’t completely isolate while she has her feelings, and Gracie takes that seriously.  Keeps licking Pearl’s face.

“Yeah, I love you…” Pearl manages.  “I just need you to stop right now, okay?  Stop!”

Her hands are shaking uncontrollably, and Gracie nips at them.  

Pearl’s off the couch, pacing, tears rolling down her face.  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here!  I have no idea who these people even  _are_!  I haven’t seen Stef since I was fourteen years old and even then she was years ahead of me, married with a baby and now she has a  _wife_!  And six _thousand children_!”

Gracie barks lightly.

Pearl turns abruptly to face her: “I know!”

She keeps pacing, her crying veering toward gross uncontrollable levels, when Gracie snags her sleeve.  Leads her over to the corner where a fiber optic curtain hangs, decorated with purple LED lights.  If she turns them on, Pearl can stand it dark, because the purple shows brighter.  Behind the curtain is a swing, which offers pressure in a way that can calm her down when nothing else can.  Gracie knows this, and she knows it’s a good idea to get Pearl here before her crying jag makes her sick.

Unsteadily, she switches on the lights for the curtain and turns the rest out.  Gets in the swing, and lets it hold her.  Lets it sway.  It is calming.  When things get out of control, it’s easy to lose track of things that help, but that’s why she has Gracie.

Pearl breathes deeply.  Lets herself swing for several minutes in total silence, mesmerized by the purple lights.  It does the job - distracting her from her panic.  She still has to walk Gracie (has the whole day to get through), but it’s starting to seem a bit more manageable.

“Thanks, girl,” she calls softly.

Gracie sticks her head through the curtain and licks Pearl’s face.

**LAX**

They get to LAX, and Jesus is pretty sure Moms don’t have a clue what this is doing to him.  The sibs (even Mariana) are either tired or excited about the idea of a last-minute trip.  Whatever the case, nobody’s first thought is him.

He wishes he’d thought to bring sunglasses or a hat.  If he’s gonna be recognized anywhere, it feels like it would definitely happen at the scene of the crime, so to speak.  No, he hadn’t ever gone to the airport Then, but this is as close as he’s come in years to being back.

They have to head through security which means he has to take his shoes off.  His sweatshirt, too.  While Moms talk everybody through this, it’s something Jesus needs much more time to take in.  Taking clothing off is always a tricky thing for him.  Even shoes.  Even a hoodie.  Even if he has other clothes underneath.

But he goes to Level 3 (automatic) and just does it.  Everybody else is handling it without a problem, so he should, too.

Mom comes alongside him once he gets his clothes back.  “It’s possible, love, that you might be picked out for further security screening.”

“What’s that mean?”

When she explains, he nods.  He’s not okay with it, but he can’t control who does what to his body, his clothes, who puts him in a damn duffel bag as a nine year old.  (He’s surrounded by plenty of those.)

Turns out that he’s not picked out to get scanned and messed with by the officers.  He could have totally dealt with it.  He was kind of a pro at dealing with it.  But whatever.

Just before they board, someone motions him aside: “You’re going to have to dump that,” she says, motioning to his water.

“Sure,” he says, tossing the water in the trash (with all his backup water).  It makes him feel like he’s losing himself piece by piece.

On the plane, he’s surrounded by strangers, except him and Mom end up by each other.

“How are you, love?” she asks.

“You know…okay…”

“Yeah?  You’re handling this really well.  I’m proud of you.  If you need anything, you let me know, yes?”

He holds onto his bag, still worn around his front.  “I’m good,” he says.  

They don’t know that he used to wear his bag turned around whenever he was nervous about walking into That House when He was home unexpectedly.  That it felt like extra protection when he was totally unprotected.

Jesus is surrounded by strangers.  There’s a random dude on his other side that keeps talking to him the whole time.

“I can’t say why, you just look so familiar to me.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Jesus comments, falling back into lying so easily it chills him.

“Well, I can see why.  You just have this face, you know?  This head?  Looks like someone I’d swear I’ve seen somewhere before.  What’s your name?”

“Sir,” Stef butts in, before Jesus can let the name “Josh” slip from his lips.  “I’d appreciate it if you could leave my son alone.  We’ve had a long morning.”

The dude mutters a foul name under his breath and it makes Jesus want to punch him.  Mom has a hand on his, though, and is whispering, so he has to focus to hear her.

“Listen to me.  It is okay.  You’re with me.  As long as you’re with your family, you are safe.  You don’t owe that guy your name or anything else.  He can be as mad as he wants to be about it.  Yes?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to sit next to him…” Jesus whispers back.

“Face me, love.  Don’t even turn toward him.  I’ve got you.  Okay?”

He tries to do a word find but the letters are blurry.  Someone’s coughing and someone else’s baby’s crying.  Jesus doesn’t think his stress is showing but it must, because of what Mom says next.

“Headphones?” she cues gently, and Jesus breathes a sigh of relief.  He can block out the baby and the asshole all at once.  

He shuts his eyes, clutching Mom’s hand.

It’s after 1:30 in the afternoon when they touch down at MSP.  It’s disgusting and snowy.  Jesus puts his blanket around him, over his sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up but it does almost nothing.  The only one with close to a winter coat is Frankie, who has reached epic levels of crabbiness, due to being confined and sleep deprived for a long time.

Jesus knows the feeling.  He keeps the headphones on because of all the people.  Lets Mariana lead him through the crowd.  Focuses on staying right with her.

They rent two SUVs and he ends up in Mom’s this time with Brandon, Jude and Mariana (because she hasn’t let go of him.)

Jesus’s stomach growls loudly, but he doesn’t pay attention.  Barely registers them driving through a Taco Bell.  The food smells good and nasty at the same time.  Like grease.  There are more napkins.  Jesus inhales the three tacos like they’re nothing.

Feels a tap on his arm.  Jude.

“I was saying, I still think you could be a competitive eater or something,” he says like Jesus is a hero.

It’s been forever in the SUV and Jesus feels less and less here, and more and more There.

He shrugs and pulls his headphones back up.  Stares out the window at the snow forever.  It doesn’t look anything like the snow Isaac played in.  It’s just on the ground.  It’s cloudy out like the whole state is depressed.  

Jesus knows how it feels.

They stop and spend way too long shopping for winter coats at Target.  Jesus doesn’t go in.  Mariana can’t resist shopping, but Brandon’s over it so he stays behind with Jesus.  Jude goes in, though.  Brandon gets him to take his headphones off and listen to the latest cover of a song he did.

“It’s Something in the Water by Carrie Underwood.  Listen,” he says and sticks a CD in an old-school Discman.

“You just carry that around with you…?” Jesus asks.

“Well yeah in case we don’t get cell service or something and you wanted something to listen to.”

Jesus listens.  “Never heard of it,” he says, dismissive.

“Well, yeah, I was kinda counting on that,” Brandon says.

But Jesus plays it again and again and again,  It keeps him from sliding between the seats in the back of the SUV as they wait.  It’s not his favorite thing by Brandon, but it works.

Everybody finally comes back.  They hand him an brownish-orange and white jacket, and he puts it on right away.  It’s so warm.

When he feels somebody tap him again, he blinks.  They’re in front of a massive cabin.  It looks super nice, especially compared to the puny-looking one next door to it.  

“Jesus, why don’t you head inside?” Mom says, sparing him from seeing even more luggage, probably.  She hands him the keys.  “Figure out where you wanna be.  Take Frankie, yes?  Hold her hand.  It’s icy.”

“Come on, buddy,” he says, as Frankie clutches at one of Jesus’s hands with both of hers.  “Want a lift?”

“Yes,” she shivers.  “It feels like my leg and my arm got freezed…”

“I got you,” he lifts her high in his arms.  Settles her on his hip.  “What do you say we check out Grandpa’s cabin?”

“Is Grandpa _here_?” she asks.  He can actually see her breath.  It’s that cold.

“Nope.  He’s at home in California.  He’s just letting us borrow it for a while.”  Jesus grabs the keys from his pocket and sticks them in the lock.  It makes him feel so powerful.  So in control.  To be the first in a place.  To be in charge of unlocking it.  To know it will be empty when he does.

He pushes open the door, and it’s huge, and it’s empty.  The first thing he sees is a bear rug on the wall, and right next to it?  A deer head.

Oh hell no.  This is not gonna work.


	6. Chapter 6

Pearl peers through her window, making sure she’s mostly obscured.  After spending much of the day just trying to cope, it’s 5 PM.  Frank’s family just arrived.  First out of two giant SUVs is a teenage boy with brown hair and a little girl.  She struggles on the ice, and he picks her up and carries her inside.

Next, she sees Stef - the only blonde in the bunch - she still looks the same.  Pearl wonders which one of the boys Brandon is.  Is he the one who carried the little girl inside, or one of the other two with heavy bags?  There’s also another woman.  This is probably Stef’s wife, with dark curly hair.  Slim.  There are also two teenage girls who bring up the rear.

Pearl has been prepared to hate them all on sight, but the older brother helping the little sister is not something she’s used to seeing.  She’s been pretty firmly committed to the idea that teenage boys are awful.  But the one in the orange jacket seems gentle.  Maybe they won’t be all bad.

She sits down at her laptop and signs into Skype.  She tries Pav, but gets no response.  She leaves a message:

“Hey.  My neighbor’s family’s here.  Do you see my face?  I wanted to hate them, but I think I’m reserving judgment for right now.  Anyway, everything else is okay…ish…for the moment.  Just trying not to freak at the invasion.  I don’t think Stef will even remember who I am.  Stef’s my neighbor’s daughter.  She’s like, eleven years older than me.  Anyway.  I’ll keep you updated.  Bye.”

–

It helps a little bit that the animals on the wall make Frankie cry.  Not that he likes it when she cries, but it helps him feel less alone.

“They  _died_?” she wails, devastated at Mom’s explanation of hunting.

(Goosebumps raise on Jesus’s arms.  He remembers Isaac sobbing like that he’d been told his mom died.)  He clutches his backpack, full of snacks, his blanket and headphones.

“Honey, don’t worry about it, okay?  What do you say we get some dinner?”

“There’s nothing here!” Mariana complains, checking the fridge.

“Yes, love, that’s because Grandpa hasn’t been here since September, and he doesn’t want his food rotting while he’s gone.  We’ll go to the store.  Jesus, are you okay here?”

“Alone?” he asks.

Mom sighs.  “No.  Not alone.  I am going to run to the store.  I thought you and Mama and whoever else wanted to stay here could do that.  You have your food you can eat in the meantime, yes?”

“Yeah.”  She’s frustrated.  He did that.  And Frankie’s crying is starting to get to him.  Jesus stands there, shifting from foot to foot.

“Let’s see if we can find a cooking show.  What do you say?” Mama suggests too brightly.

“Grandpa hunted that deer just like Shaw!” Frankie bawls.

Jude snickers.  “Grandpa’s not Shaw,” he says, recognizing the character as the name of the hunter in  _Open Season_ , a kids movie about a bear and a deer becoming best friends and getting all the animals to fight back against hunters.

Jesus can’t watch movies really, or any TV other than cooking shows.  So even though Mama’s got a cooking show on, Jesus is off exploring the cabin for what room might be best.  

The problem hits him immediately.  All of these rooms have doors.  And beds.  But mostly doors.  He thinks of his room back home with its beaded curtain and its blanket nest.  How could he not have thought of this?  None of these rooms are gonna work.

Still, he stops off in the alcove upstairs and dumps out his backpack, taking stock of how much food he has on him.  He’s hungry enough to eat right now, for sure.  But he just knows that the amount of food he does have right now isn’t gonna last eight days.  He can’t afford to eat it.  He has to save it, and probably more.  Jesus should have been saving food this whole time, but he just hasn’t thought of it.

So when Mom comes back with McDonald’s, he eats a few chicken nuggets and fries and slips the rest into his backpack, still on.

He feels a little better knowing there’s actual food in the house, but not much. Frankie’s asleep on the couch.  Everybody else is zoning out on couches around the TV.  Jesus isn’t feeling safe at all here, but Moms both look exhausted.

Jesus is sitting at the table in front of a ridiculous wall of giant windows.  A shape zips by in the dark, making his heart race.  It’s followed by another human shape.

Just somebody walking their dog.

Nothing to worry about.

But if that’s true, then why can’t Jesus calm down?

–

It’s dark by 6:00 PM, but Pearl’s new Christmas hat has an LED light, and she has mace.  Gracie is restless, having not been walked since early this morning.

Now that Frank’s family is here, Pearl has shifted from freaking out to stoically doing what she has to do.  That includes walking her dog.  She doesn’t keep to a regular route or time, because that’s just careless.  But it feels good to be out in the cold.  It makes her feel alive.

Maybe Stef will remember her.  Maybe she won’t.  Maybe they won’t even cross paths.  Frank probably just called because he can’t let go of the one time that he had friends staying at the cabin and didn’t give Pearl a heads up.  She had called the cops and it had been a whole mess.  One Frank probably remembers well and doesn’t care to repeat.  Hence the call.

Whatever happens, Pearl can’t control it.  And that’s terrifying, but it’s just the way it is.  She’ll do her thing and they’ll do theirs, and in a week, they’ll be out of here.

After her walk, Gracie is ready to head back inside.  So is Pearl.  She’s exhausted from a day when her emotions were all over the place.  By 7:00, she falls onto the couch.  (It’s so small, there’s no room for a bed here, and that’s just as well.)

Gracie jumps up on top of her to be close, and Pearl holds onto her, hoping that just by proximity, Gracie will be able to ward off what haunts her.

Against her better judgement, Pearl is picturing the family next door.  The little girl getting tucked in bed.  Hugs and kisses.  Belonging.  Feeling safe around other people.  Around family.  She’d had that once, but it isn’t the same now.

Nothing is the same now.

As her eyes drift closed, Pearl fights it.  Dreads the moment when her dreams veer sharply back in time fifteen years.

But no matter what she’s tried, Pearl can’t feel safe sleeping.  Always wakes up screaming.  Fighting.  Until Gracie bravely breaks through her nightmares and anchors her back in the present.

Tonight, it happens again.

And when she’s awake, she calls for Grace, and the dog is there, licking her face.  It grounds her.  Brings her back from the dreams and the dark.  

It’s why she’s always thought that getting the service dog with that name was fate:  because being able to call out for grace when she struggles just seems right somehow.

“Good girl,” Pearl whispers, trying to calm her racing heart.  “Good girl.”

–

That night, when everybody else is sleeping, Jesus can’t.  He’s up, walking around the new place.  Checking the locks.

He let Moms think that he picked a room.  That he felt okay in it, even though it had a bed and a door.  But really, he never closed the door and sneaked out when the cabin was quiet.  Softly, he made his way down the stairs (so not Frankie-friendly, he’s gonna have to talk to her about them) and into the kitchen.  There’s nowhere that feels safe in this damn place.

In the middle of the night, he finally gives up.  He gathers blankets from the living room and drapes them so they hang off the edge of the table, and all the way around.  He has his backpack inside, and his own yellow blanket to cover up with.  It’s still colder than he’d like, but he can take it.

“You’re not There,” he whispers to himself.  “You’re okay.  You’re safe.  As long as you’re with your family, you’re safe.”


	7. Chapter 7

Monday doesn’t necessarily start well.  Pearl has been up every hour.  At 3:30 AM, she gives up.  Gets up.  Does some stretching and meditation.  Tries to journal, but it comes out like crap.  Since she can feel herself actively resisting the swing, she figures her body must need it.  She turns on the purple lights and hangs out in there while Gracie snores on the couch, exhausted from a night of keeping watch.

By 6:00 AM, she’s exhausted all of her early-morning to-dos and it’s still not light enough to walk Gracie.  (Besides, Gracie is still passed out on the couch.  Now she’s running in her sleep.)

“Yeah.  Live it up,” Pearl comments softly.  “At least one of us should have good dreams, right?”

She walks over to her laptop and switches it on.  Skype signs her in automatically and her heart leaps at the sight of Pav with a green check mark by her name.  She’s online!  Praise everything!

Before she can click Pav’s name, she’s getting a video call from her.  Pearl can’t click the answer button fast enough.

“Hey, you’re up.”

“Of course.  Couldn’t sleep at all.  You?”

“Sort of?  If you count up once screaming and seven more times just trying to get my breath…though that could have been the giant dog lying on top of me…”

“Aw, I love Gracie…” Pav’s face breaks into a smile.  She’s been stressed, too.  Winter’s not her favorite time of year.  Even though April is Pearl’s worst month, she gets anniversary reactions.  “I got your message.  How’s your neighbor’s family?”

“They seem okay so far.  Keeping to themselves.  So long as they keep that up, it should be fine.”

They talk a bit longer until Gracie decides she needs to go outside immediately.  Pearl hangs up with Pav and promises to be in touch.  Then, she gets bundled up and braces herself for the blast of cold air when she opens the door.  Even though the sun is shining and it looks gorgeous, Pearl knows that’s deceptive.

She’s out back when she catches a flash of orange in her peripheral vision.  It makes her heart speed up in her chest.  Orange Jacket’s out on Frank’s back step.

“Morning,” he calls.

She nods, cautious.

“Nice dog.”

“She is.  Are you Frank’s grandson?”

“Yeah.  Jesus,” he introduces.

“Pearl,” she nods back.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.  He seems so genuine.  Like a good kid.  But she doesn’t say more, just keeps walking.  She’s glad when he goes back inside.  Why on earth did she tell him her name?

–

Jesus heads back inside.  All he’s got is a coat.  No gloves.  No boots.  He really didn’t plan this well.  It’s ridiculously cold here.  But the day looked so bright, he couldn’t resist checking it out.  And the neighbor, Pearl, really did have a beautiful dog.

He hurries to gather all the blankets he used to drape the table with and refold them.  He puts them back where he found them, feeling the start of panic that threatened whenever he cleaned anything, even a minor mess he made himself.

Then, he gathers his sweatshirt, his own blanket and his backpack and creeps into the room Brandon and Jude are in.  He sits on the couch by the door for what feels like forever, listening to the hellacious sound of Jude grinding his teeth, until it seems like a respectable time to get up.  He leaves his bag there on the couch, covered by his blanket, so it looks like he slept there.  He doesn’t need Moms freaking out about him sleeping under a table.

He heads back down to the kitchen, and opens the fridge and all the cupboards.  Everything is stocked now.  He sees the coffee in the cupboard and starts making a pot without even thinking about it.  Moms need coffee to get going in the morning.  Callie likes it, too.  And he’s up anyway.

It’s hours until anybody else gets up.  Even Frankie is sleeping hard.  Mom’s the next one up.  Finds Jesus looking out the window.

“Smells good,” she says, still half asleep.

And that’s all it takes.  “I can make you something,” he offers.

This snaps her out of her half asleep daze.  “Jesus Foster,” she reprimands lightly.  “You are not in charge of coffee making.  That’s still true.  Yes?”

He shrugs before he can stop himself.

“Okay.  Porch Time,” she says, patting a chair beside her at the kitchen table.

“We’re  _inside_ …” he says softly, with a careful smile.

“Yes, well, if we went out on the actual porch this morning, I think we’d freeze.  Sit down please, love.” Stef prompts, more firmly.

(She’s still drinking the coffee.  So, he sits.)

He stares at the cup in her hands.  It’s dark green.  

“Jesus.  Can you get grounded for me, please?” she asks.

He knows what she’s referring to.  So he sits up in the chair.  Adjusts so he’s all the way back in it.  Presses his feet down.  Lifts his head.  Last, he meets her eyes.  He tries to keep breathing deliberately, but it’s hard.  He can’t let her figure out just how many things are wrong.  They can’t go back home until next Sunday.  Let her think they’re a little wrong.

When he nods to signal he’s ready to listen, she starts talking:

“It occurs to me that we haven’t been as clear as we should have been about what it means now that we are where we are.  So, I need you to know that even though we are on vacation, and we’re staying somewhere that is not home, your accommodations still apply.  And that includes that no one expects you to clean here.  That includes kitchen chores.  That includes cooking for us or making us coffee.   _We_  are taking care of  _you_ , love, not vice versa.  You can trust that we will do that for you.  Can you tell me what you heard me say?”

“Not to clean or do anything in the kitchen, like cook or make coffee,” he recites.

“Yes.  Now is there anything else you need me to know?”

“I folded some blankets that got messed up last night…and I made coffee…”

“Okay.  How did you feel?” she asks.

“Making the coffee felt normal.  Hey, I saw this awesome dog out this morning,” he volunteers because it’s getting super hard not to just tell Mom everything that’s wrong.

“You know I love dogs, so I’d love to hear all about it.  But first I need you to tell me about how you felt with the blankets.  Folding them,” she prompts.

“Yeah…not so good.”

“Not so good, and what else?” she asks.

“Panicky,” he admits, glancing away.

“And that is why you are not responsible for cleaning chores.  Because we don’t want you feeling panicky.  We want you to feel calm and safe.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“No, _I’m_  sorry, Jesus.  I should have talked to you more about this.  It all happened pretty fast, but that’s no excuse.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her.

“It is never okay if you are unsafe.  No more cleaning while we are here.  Make sense?”

“It does,” he nods.

“Okay.  Now tell me about this dog…”

Jesus doesn’t get the chance to mention Pearl or her dog to Mom because Frankie’s up.  And then Mama.  And then everybody.

They have oatmeal for breakfast and Jesus almost loses it, because how is he gonna save that?  Luckily there’s toast, too, and he sneaks that upstairs to tuck it into his backpack.  Now all he has in it is the food, because he doesn’t want his blanket or headphones getting all crumby.

He doesn’t shower or change, but no one comments.  They get change is hard for him.  That afternoon, they all go outside together.  Soon enough, Frankie decides she hates the snow and goes back in with Mama.  Mari and Jude join her.  But Mom, Brandon and Callie are still out.

They build the most epic snowman, and then Brandon says the magic words to Mom:

“Didn’t you say Grandpa had snowmobiles?”

“That I did,” Mom smiles.

“No way!  Can we go on them?” Callie asks.

“Of course.  Jesus, are you coming, too?” Mom asks.

“Of course!” he echoes, a smile on his face.  

But when they get to the garage where Grandpa keeps the snowmobiles, it’s dark inside.  There are tools.  It reminds Jesus too much of the basement where he was kept in for months.  While everybody’s talking about which snowmobile they want, Jesus backs up.  They have to double up, and he is not comfortable with that either.

“Jesus, are you riding with me?” Mom asks, once the snowmobiles are outside.

“Actually, I think I changed my mind…” he hedges.

“Oh.  Okay, love.  You gonna head back inside with Mama?” she checks.

“I think so, yeah.” he nods.

Callie keeps revving her and Brandon’s snowmobile.  It’s making him nervous and he backs off even more.  “See you guys?”

“Yeah, see ya,” Callie calls, waving.

Jesus waits until they drive away.  Then he realizes he’s by himself.  Totally.  It’s cold enough to freeze out here, even with his jacket.  He stands for a while, trying to figure out what to do, but he just can’t move.  This kind of thing only used to happened when he knew something horrible was happening Then, or was gonna happen.  He has no idea what’s up with his body right now except that he’s alone, without his family, without his home.

All the things that are supposed to make him safe.

So maybe he just needs to wait until they come back.  They were here.  They’ll come back eventually.  He’s a long way from the cabin.  Just to test it out, Jesus tries to take a step.  He can’t move.

It’s not that the snow’s deep.  It’s that mentally, he just can’t make himself move.  He’s stuck.  He hates being stuck.  Because this time there is literally no one around who can help.  Mom, Callie and Brandon are off on snowmobiles.  Mama, Mari and Jude are inside, and he would not rely on Frankie to help him out with this.

Jesus tries to breathe. Squints in the sun.  He’s been cold before, for a long time, but nothing like this.

He’s almost too cold to think.  But he pulls his hood up.  Tucks his hands in his pockets.  Tries to keep breathing.  Minutes tick by, and they feel like hours.

And he’s not safe.

And he’s dangerously close to blanking out just to cope.

He calls out, but it doesn’t reach his mouth.  

Just in his head.  Just one word:

_Somebody…_

 


	8. Chapter 8

Pearl’s trying to listen to Char’s story about her awful boss, when Gracie starts barking.  

“Hey!  Pipe down!” Char reprimands the dog comically.  “I’m in the middle of a story here.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what her problem is.  I’m gonna walk her in, like, ten minutes.  Gracie.  Manners.”

Grace yips and continues to whine, obviously not satisfied with the idea of waiting.  

“I’m really sorry.  She’s not usually like this.  Let me see what’s up, and I’ll call you back tonight.”

Getting up and walking to the sliding glass door where Gracie is pacing, Pearl glances out.  Sees Jesus from next door, standing out in Frank’s yard.

“That’s Jesus.  You are not supposed to whine,” Pearl reprimands.  But as the minutes tick by and Jesus doesn’t move, and Gracie doesn’t calm down, Pearl gets more concerned.  She steps out and calls to him.   

“Jesus,” she tries.  Gracie circles Pearl’s legs.

He doesn’t give any indication that he can hear her - hasn’t moved.  He’s standing absolutely still.  Gracie’s been whining for several minutes now.  Has Jesus been out there the whole time?

“It’s cold out,” she tries, because these California kids clearly don’t know the first thing about dressing for Minnesota winters.  “Jesus?” she tries again.  “You should go in.”

But he doesn’t turn.  Doesn’t respond at all.  And Pearl’s worry is on overdrive.  “Gracie.  That is Jesus.  Go see Jesus, girl,” she instructs.

Gracie takes off, bounding through the snow and skidding to a stop beside him.  She licks his hand.  (His bare hand in this brutal cold - he seems to have lost a glove.)  Then she snags his coat sleeve with her teeth and starts leading him back to Pearl.

“Jesus?” Pearl calls again, wanting her message to get in.  “You should go in.”

He blinks at her like he’s coming out of a daze.  “I…can’t.”

“All right.  Come inside.”

Gracie leads Jesus by the sleeve until he’s safely indoors.  Then, she lets him go, and returns to Pearl’s side.  Her old self again.

“Are you okay?” Pearl asks.  She gets busy giving him her heated blanket to wrap around himself and making him a cup of instant hot cocoa.  (She’s a hot cocoa snob.  Prefers the good stuff you stir slowly on the stove, but Jesus needs warmth as soon as possible.  So instant will have to do.)

“I’m…not, actually…”

He speaks slowly.  It’s not at all how he sounded this morning.  

The hot cocoa seems to bring him around.  Even holding it in his hands makes the life come back to his eyes.  

“Thank you.”

“No problem.  You have a hard time with cold?” she guesses.

“I have a hard time with a lot of things…” he admits, sipping the drink.  “…psychologically.”  He pauses.  Meets her gaze.  She knows the look.  He’s waiting for the judgment.

He won’t find it here.  Not with her.  “Listen.  Do you need something?  Can I call someone for you?”

“Actually…would you mind if  _I_  called someone?  I need to touch base with my therapist.  I got an appointment later and never officially canceled before my family decided to come up here for the week.  I’d call myself, but I don’t have service.”

“Yeah, of course,” Pearl answers, offering her phone.

She half-listens as Gracie stays close to her.  The picture of perfect behavior now that Jesus is inside with her.

“Yeah.  Hi, Dr. H, this is Jesus Foster.  I’m not going to make it in today, because we’re in Minnesota.  But I wondered if I could touch base with you another way…”  He glances around and his eyes fall on Pearl’s computer.  He raises his eyebrows at her.  “Maybe Skype?”  

Pearl nods.  He can use whatever he needs.  Like she’s gonna stop a kid from talking to his therapist.

“Yeah 3:00 still works,” he’s saying.  “Okay.  Yeah.  Bye.”

“Everything okay?” she asks, nervous but trying not to show it.

“How’d your dog know to do that thing with me?” Jesus asks, skirting her question with one of his own.

“She’s a service dog,” Pearl explains as Gracie nips and distracts until Pearl’s hand tremors pass. “Do you need to tell your parents you’re here?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jesus reassures.

“How old are you?” Pearl checks.

“Sixteen.”

That makes sense.  Most sixteen year olds aren’t reporting back to their parents every two seconds.

“How is it living next door to Grandpa?” he wonders.

“Fine.  Keeps to himself.”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.  

It’s officially awkward.  Especially as Jesus seems to have no plans to go back next door for at least an hour.

–

Jesus can’t stop looking at the cool purple curtain in the corner of the cabin and wondering what could be behind it.  The outside of her cabin is seriously ugly, but inside there are pops of color where he doesn’t expect them, comfortable furniture, and an open floor plan, so he can pretty much see everything at once.  No surprises.  All one level.  It’s so warm in here.  So homey.  And the hot chocolate’s so good.  

Pearl’s quiet.  Honest.  She wears her clothes like she’s hiding.  Her tan cardigan is long.  A black beanie hat covers all her hair.  Fingerless black knit gloves obscure her hands.  It isn’t until she starts shedding layers that he really gets a good look at her.  Part of it is how much clothing she’s got on, and part of it is that he’s finally with it enough to really see her.  Seeing her take off all her layers makes him feel like she trusts him in some kind of deep way.  He can’t say why, it’s just what he feels.

She reminds him a bit of Mama, but younger.  Maybe late 20s or early 30s.  She’s thin with dark hair and brown eyes, but where Mama’s eyes shine with a kind of calm certainty, Pearl’s are guarded.  Her mouth has worry lines around it.  She’s watchful - hasn’t taken her eyes off him since he walked in - but it doesn’t make him feel exposed.  Instead, he gets the feeling that by being here,  _he_  might be exposing  _her_.  He doesn’t want her to feel that way, and he also knows he needs to be able to feel safe.  To breathe.  And being here has allowed him to do that.  Jesus doesn’t know what it feels like to hide because you want to.  He only knows what it feels like to hide because you have to.

…But maybe it’s not a choice for Pearl either.

He instinctively doesn’t ask what she needs a service dog for.  Jesus caught her tremor, even if he didn’t mention it.  All of a sudden, he feels beyond tired.  “Do you mind if I crash for a few minutes?  Didn’t get much sleep.  There are, like, a million people in my family, and it’s been hard to feel…like…okay…since we got here.”

“Yeah, go ahead.  Want me to wake you in an hour?”

“I’ll be up, but my thing isn’t til 5:00 actually.  Sorry.  I should have mentioned it.  3:00 California time.”

“Oh,” Pearl nods.

Jesus can tell she’s not thrilled about his dropping by like this, but she did send her dog to get him.  He tries not to worry about it and stretches out on the couch.

–

The last thing Pearl expects is to have Frank’s grandson over for several hours on a whim.  She doesn’t like company.  Doesn’t like teenagers.  Least of all teenage boys.  But she had seen the look in his eyes when Gracie led him inside.  How dissociated he looked.  She knew that feeling - without him even specifying psychological reasons.

It’s for that reason that she lets him stay. She sees herself in him.  Knows that sometimes you just need someone to be there.  So, while she’s not about to let her guard down or let Jesus out of her sight for more than a few seconds, Pearl’s okay to do some more knitting.  To keep talking to Char via Facebook, updating her on the strange turn of events.

At 4:00, she makes herself a frozen TV dinner.  Jesus doesn’t stir.  At ten to 5:00, she prompts Gracie to go see Jesus, and she sits two inches from his face until he wakes up and groggily smiles at her.  

“Hey, you,” he greets.  Pearl’s impressed that, ever since she specified Gracie was a service dog, Jesus has not tried to touch her.

“What’s her name?”

“Grace,” Pearl says.  “I didn’t want to wake you.  I mean, you seem to need the sleep, but it’s ten to five.  Just in case you had to do anything to get ready for your appointment.”

“Oh, whoa, yeah.  Thanks.  Is it cool if I use your bathroom?”

She tells him where it is and tries to think about what she can do while he’s occupied on her laptop.  A therapeutic hour is 50 minutes.  Gracie needs a walk, and Pearl could probably put some headphones on and swing or something while he’s busy the rest of the time.  She’ll see how comfortable she is with letting Jesus stay in her cabin alone.

He comes back, and Pearl’s turned her laptop on.  Logged herself off of Skype.

“Here.  I’ll be around here.  Probably just listening to music or something.  I won’t listen in,” she promises.

“Is this really okay?” he asks, seeming nervous again.

“It’s really something you need, right?” she asks.

Jesus nods.

“Then it’s really okay.”

–

Just before 5 PM, Pearl disappears behind the awesome purple curtain with headphones on.  He signs onto Skype and sees Dr. Holly Hitchens is signed on, too.

He hits the button for video call and waits.

“Jesus.  It’s nice to see you.  Though it’s not the way I thought we’d meet this week,” she says with a smile.

“No, me neither,” he answers.

She leads him through getting grounded and focused and then asks where he’d like to start.

“I’m not sure.  This trip is harder than I expected it to be.  It was, like, really sudden?”

“I see. Where are you right now?”

“My grandpa’s cabin in Minnesota.  Well, actually, _his neighbor’s_  cabin right now.”

“Can you share with me one thing that’s difficult?”

It takes no time for one thing to snowball into 25, and for Jesus to get lost in his head.  He hears Dr. H. calling his name, though, and focuses in on her.

“I got stuck outside…like…mentally stuck. But I couldn’t move.  Not sure how long I was out there for.  The neighbor’s dog came and got me, and this is as safe as I’ve felt since we were packing to leave.”

“How long are you scheduled to be there?” she asks, making notes.

“Through Sunday.”

“And when did you arrive?”

“Last night about dinnertime.”

“All right.  So, it sounds like you feel overwhelmed.  Like you may need some coping strategies to get you through the time there.”

“Yeah.”

They talk through some.  He says he brought his backpack with extra snacks, his blanket and headphones, but they made him get rid of his water in the airport.  And he wasn’t allowed to take the glitter Frankie gave him for Christmas.

“Is it possible to get another water bottle to carry with you while you’re there?”

“I guess…  Moms did say if I need something, tell them.”

“Good.  I want you to make a note somewhere you’ll see it, to remind yourself to ask them about that.”

Jesus grabs a pen off the desk and scribbles  _Water_  on his hand.

“What else would you like to talk about?” Dr. H. asks.

“I’m having a hard time feeling safe…” he admits.

“You mentioned you feel your safest now.  Is this neighbor’s cabin somewhere they’d consent to you stopping in if you needed to take breaks?”

“I’m not sure.  Pearl?” he calls, but he doesn’t see her.  

Gracie trots over and sticks her head through the fiber optic curtain.  Pearl pokes her head out.  “What’d you need, Jesus?” she says coming out and taking her headphones off.

“This is my therapist, Dr. Holly Hitchens,” Jesus introduces.

“Pearl West,” she says back shortly.

“I was wondering if I like needed a break from stuff next door, if I could come by here…  It wouldn’t be this big of a thing, usually.  Just…I need somewhere to feel safe?  ‘Cause I don’t really next door?”

Jesus can see how Pearl purses her lips, but then she nods.  “If you need to, yes.”

The session is over soon after that, and Jesus feels like there was barely any time to discuss all of the millions of triggers he’s come up against since Moms decided to take this trip.  But at least Pearl said he could come back.  And Dr. H. asked him to call and check in if he needed to.

Jesus checks the time on his phone - the only feature that works here with no service.

“Dude, it’s almost 6:00? I gotta go…” he says, casting nervous looks outside.

It might as well be midnight for how dark it is.

“I can walk with you,” Pearl offers, even though she looks uneasy at the thought herself.

“Are you sure?  I mean, you don’t have to if you’re not comfortable…”

This makes Pearl smile just for a second.  “Yeah, I do.  Look.  I have a light on my hat.”  (She turns it on, temporarily blinding him.)  And this.” She takes a small container out of her coat pocket.

“What is  _that_?” Jesus asks, curious.

“Mace.  Don’t worry.  I’ll look out for you.  And Gracie will be here, too.”

They walk outside, and it’s eerily dark, cold and still.  The crunching of the snow under their feet is the only sound.

Jesus swallows.  “Do you ever get scared?”

Silence for so long Jesus doesn’t expect Pearl will answer.  Then, she says, “I’m scared all the time.”

“Sometimes, I fake it too well, and my family believes I’m okay.  Otherwise they kinda can make me feel like I’m overreacting…” he hedges, and then asks: “Same?”

“Yeah.  Same,” she says with so much feeling that Jesus can’t begin to name them all.

“Earlier when I was out here alone, I got stuck ‘cause it felt like I needed so much help, but I couldn’t get it.  I felt like that a lot, you know, before in my life.  I feel like I’m the only one who needs help like this, but it’s not obvious to people, you know?”

“It was obvious to me.” Pearl says, her voice calm.  Even.

“Because you get it.”

“Yeah,” she says, slowing down as they approach the front of Frank’s cabin.  “Because I get it.”

And before he has time to say anything, Pearl knocks hard on the door, and disappears into the night before anyone answers it.

In the seconds before the door is pulled open, it occurs to Jesus just what she did for him.  Not only did she walk him home even though it scared her, she remembered that he didn’t feel like he could go home, and knocked to make sure his family knew he was out here.

He’s pretty sure the last thing Pearl wants to be is a role model for anyone, but she’s become one for him, in no time at all.


	9. Chapter 9

The door opens, and Jesus is face to face with Jude.

“Dude.  Are you okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.  But it’s more than that.  He’s tense.  The whole cabin is crackling with tension.

“Yeah…” Jesus hedges.  “I’m fine.  Why?”

“Because Moms are freaking out.  So just a heads-up,” he says, keeping his voice down.  Jude leads the way into the kitchen, where Moms are rushing around.

“Honey, sit down.”

“I can’t sit down, Lena.  Our son is missing.  I can’t believe no one’s seen him since this afternoon!  I told him to go inside!”

“I know.  You told me.  And I thought he was with you outside.  He’ll show up.  We can’t panic, Stef.”

“We can’t?  Well, I sure as hell am, Lena.  It’s been  _five hours_  and no one has seen Jesus.  Do you remember the last time this happened?  It wasn’t nothing!”

“I’m going to check outside again,” Lena says.

“Good news!  I found him!” Jude announces, his voice forced and bright.  He’s trying to will the energy in the house to something more positive.  Jesus can sense it.  Even before Moms turn, he can tell their nerves are fried.

Mom sees Jesus first.  Rushes to him.  Grabs him too hard.  Holds on.  “My God, Jesus!  Are you okay?  Where were you?”

He’s breathless this close to her panic.  Enveloped in it.  Held without consent, and too hard, and everything is blurry.  She lets go, and asks again, right in his face - in his space - all he can see is her fear.

“ _Where were you_?” she insists, holding onto him by the arms.

His brain’s stalled.  All the great calming effects of Pearl’s cabin, and Pearl herself, and her hot chocolate and Dr. H. are evaporating.  He grinds out the only word in his head:  “Out.”

Mom’s eyes darken.  Jesus realizes his mistake too late.  She thinks this one word is him giving attitude when really it’s the only one that came when he thought of being literally stuck outside.

“Really?” she asks, not impressed at all. **  
**

She crosses her arms as he shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up.  

“Talk to us, Jesus,” Mama tries when he comes back.  “Mom said you told her you were coming inside when you changed your mind about snowmobiling.”

“Hours ago!” Mom interjects.

“ _And I tried_!” he insists, anxiety making his own voice more intense.  He backs up until he’s against a wall.

“What does that mean?” Mama asks.

“Trying isn’t good enough, Jesus!” Mom snaps.  “Not when you give me your word you’ll do something.”

“Oh, my God.  It wasn’t that deep, okay?  I said I’d try!  I never said I’d do it!”  He crosses his arms.  (His words keep coming out all wrong.  He keeps leaving out important ones.  Needs to make it clear it wasn’t a choice.  That he  _couldn’t_  come in.  Not that he was trying to freak them out.)

“Don’t play semantics right now, Jesus.  It’s not helpful.”  Mama warns.  She turns to the rest of the sibs in the living room:  “Guys, Mom and I need to speak with Jesus privately.  Go upstairs, please.”

Jesus doesn’t know what playing semantics means, but he needs to do something.  He can feel himself losing control and he needs to do whatever the next right thing is that can help himself calm down.  He thinks about Dr. H.  About coping strategies.  Maybe now that it’s just him and Moms they can do Porch Time at the table like this morning.  Another word flies out of his mouth, unchecked:

“Time!”

“Jesus, we’re trying to talk to you.  This is very serious,” Mama says.

He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, all while Mom is pacing and yelling at him.

“I don’t understand where this is coming from!  You still haven’t told us where you were!  Did it ever occur to you that we have trauma, too?  That one of the things that is the most difficult for us is not knowing where you are?  You  _know better than this_ , Jesus!”

Jesus tries one more time, though his body’s already moving.  Rocking.  “Porch Time,” he manages in a flat voice.  He can’t take their blame.  It’s everything he’s already thought.  For years, he blamed himself for being such a dumbass and getting in That Car when he knew better.

He  _did_  know better.  This whole thing, his own pain, his family’s, it’s all on him.  He’s the worst.

“We are talking to you right now, Jesus,” Mom says.  Hands on her hips. Strained voice.  Anger, barely controlled.

Jesus rocks his body back, hard, against the wall.  He hates himself and they hate him and he did this and they’re not listening and he can’t go home.  He’s not safe.

Mom covers her mouth.  The thing she does when he embarrasses her.  Behind her hand, she mumbles, “You are  _something else_ …”

“Stef, no,” Mama cautions.

She tries to get Jesus’s attention.  “Mom didn’t mean it, Jesus.  She didn’t know.”

He can barely hear her, because of the rocking.  Because of his head and his back hitting the wall over and over and over and over.  He can’t stop.  He’s here but he’s not because he’s disappearing.  Because he knows that Something Else means he can’t be here.  Because it’s gonna hurt and he’s gonna wish he could die.  But he won’t actually.  He’ll just be afraid that he will until it stops and a long time after, too.  The rocking is a thing he did when he was chained.  A futile kind of escaping.  It feels exactly like that now.  He’s not chained.  But it feels like he is.

“Don’t coddle him, Lena.  He’s got to learn that he can’t control situations by acting out like this.  Jesus.  You need to stop.  Right now.  This is not going to get you what you want.  You just have to accept that you messed up.”

The words echo in his head.  It’s his fault.  His fault.  He did it all.  He got in That Car.  He stayed gone when he could have escaped.  He didn’t do what he promised Mom he would and now everything’s messed up.  Because of him.  He hurt his family.  What’s the point of being here if he’s just going to keep hurting them?  Better to disappear inside his head.  That’s always better.

The wall’s still there.  The rhythm’s still there.  The pain’s still there.  All of it is predictable.  All of it is because of him.  He’s building up his armor.  His tolerance.  So he’ll be able to handle Something Else.  If…when…it happens again. (He’s not safe here.  It’s not home.  Why should he have thought he’d really be okay?)

He rocks harder.

Harder.

Harder.

–

“Brandon, come down here, please!”  

Mama.  

He pauses for only a second, trying to think about if there’s any way Jesus dropping off the face of the earth for five hours could possibly be blamed on him.  Then, her tone registers.  She sounds like this is a big deal.

Brandon forgets about saving his own ass and rushes down the stairs and into the kitchen.  He sees immediately what the problem is:

Jesus, bashing the hell out of his head, looking totally out of it.  Blank.  It makes Brandon’s stomach sink.  He’s seen this before.  When Jesus first got back, it happened a couple times, but back then Mom was always the one to intervene.  She could, because Jesus had been the size of a ten-year-old then, and she could handle him.  She’d just slide him away from the wall and hold onto him and talk to him until he came back to himself.  Sometimes he fought because he didn’t know what was happening, but he was so small it barely looked like it hurt.

He remembers a couple years ago, how Moms came to him and asked if he would be willing to take over for her now that Jesus was bigger, if this ever happened again.  Brandon had said sure, because he’d been sure that Jesus was okay enough now to manage in other ways.  By then it had been six months since anything happened like that.

But he’s not managing now.  And there’s no way Brandon wants Moms risking trying to physically maneuver Jesus while he’s not actually with it and might lash out or something without meaning to.  Whatever happened to him while he was gone tonight must have been scary as hell if he’s doing this again.

“What do you need me to do?” Brandon asks, his eyes fixed on his brother.  On his face, not registering any of the pain, any of their voices, anything at all.  

“See if you can get a pillow behind him,” Mama coaches.  “I don’t want you to touch him unless you have to.”

Brandon’s already sprinted to the living room and grabbed one of Grandpa’s moose throw pillows from the couch.  He’s back, and crouches beside Jesus.

“Explain what you’re doing.  Be as clear as you can,” Mama insists.

“Hey, I’m just gonna put this pillow behind your head, okay?” Brandon hedges.  He’s nervous as hell.  Mom’s pacing and ranting about regression and self-aggression and how this is some vacation.

“Stef,” Mama says quietly as Brandon contemplates just how to get the pillow in place without touching Jesus.  “Why don’t you take a break?”

“No, I am not taking a break, Lena!  Not when he is like this.  He’s unpredictable…I can handle him if it comes to that.  But I’m not leaving him alone with you.”

Brandon has managed to shove the pillow behind Jesus’s head without touching him, by timing it out just right.  The pianist in him thinks it’s ridiculous that Mom just called Jesus unpredictable.  He’s totally predictable.  The rocking - the head-banging - it has a rhythm.  That might be why he’s doing this in the first place.  It might be better to know what’s coming.  

The pillow falls in seconds, and Brandon picks it up.  Tries putting it back again.  But it falls again.

Moms are still fighting, so Brandon says, “This didn’t work.  But I think I can get behind him.”  He wills his voice not to shake.  He’s the man of the house.  They’re relying on him.  This is what Mom did, kind of.  It’s what needs to happen, probably.  If Brandon comes at Jesus head on, he’s sure it won’t be good.  But from behind, maybe he can just wait Jesus out, taking the pain for him.  (It’s all Brandon’s ever really wanted to do for him, anyway.)

“B, no.  You’re gonna get hurt.  He’s not in control of what he’s doing.” Mom snaps.

“I can do it.  It’s fine,” Brandon says, knowing someone has to do something.  He reaches out and scoots his brother forward, glad for the slippery wood floor.  Jesus slides forward easily enough, and Brandon sits behind him, trying to go with Jesus’s momentum, not against it.  Brandon’s not expecting the force, though, and it almost knocks the wind out of him.

Still, Brandon stays.  Because better him than his brother.  Jesus has had enough pain in his life.  It’s the least Brandon can do.

–

The wall behind Jesus feels different.  It doesn’t feel solid.  He blinks, still rocking hard.

“Brandon, seriously.” Mom is saying, and Jesus can’t breathe.

Brandon.

Behind him.

When Jesus didn’t know.  Didn’t consent.  (They don’t say yes for him, ever.)

His breathing goes from something he’s not even aware he’s doing to too fast and too deep.  “Back up!”  he screams.  “Back up!  Back up!  Back up!”

He can’t think past the panic.  His heart’s beating hard.  Fast.  He can’t stop screaming.  Behind him, Brandon’s scrambling to get away from him.  Jesus can’t stop rocking.  Can’t stop screaming.

Mama comes at him with a pill, and he shakes his head hard.  He can’t deal with somebody else forcing him to do something.  Take something.  The panic means he can’t disappear.  The panic means he has to feel everything all at once.  And it won’t stop.

“Back up!  Back up!  Back up!”

–

When Mariana hears Jesus scream, she doesn’t hesitate.  She doesn’t think.  She runs.  She abandons the game of Candy Land she, Callie, Jude and Frankie are playing in one of the bedrooms and takes the stairs as quick as she can.

She doesn’t know what happened, but Brandon’s looking pale, somehow trapped behind Jesus and Jesus is in full-on fireworks mode.  He can’t stop rocking.

“You guys need to go,” she says.  “I’ve got him.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Mariana, no.  He is out of control,” Mom hisses.

Mom’s the out of control one, but Mariana doesn’t say as much.  “Seriously,” she says instead. “I know what to do.  You’re not helping.”

She turns pleading eyes to Mama, because Jesus is still screaming, not even aware that she’s here and she’ll help.  She can’t reassure him until all the hyper energy gets out of here.

“Let’s let them be,” Mama nods.  “Mariana, you call for us if you need us.”

“Yeah,” she says, as they clear out.  But she’s not focused on them.  She’s focused on Jesus.  Brandon finally gets himself out from behind Jesus and runs back upstairs like he’s on fire.

She waits until everyone’s gone and it’s quiet except for Jesus, and then she crouches in front of him, talking to him in a tone that’s firm and in control.  He does best if he feels like he can trust whoever’s around to be calm but confident enough that he can trust them to keep him safe.

“Jesus, it’s Mariana.  I’m your backup, right?  Always.”  She comes as close as she dares without actually touching him.  She needs him to register she’s actually there before she intervenes.  When his yelling tapers off, she knows it’s getting in that she’s there.  He’s still slamming himself into the wall, but the panic’s not at such a high point now.

“I’m here to help,” she continues, keeping her voice low and calm.  She offers a hand, and he stares at it.  Wary.  “Can you take my hand?  So I can help you?”

His eyes flicker to hers.  His fingers flex, and then he grasps her hand hard.  She offers the other and he takes that, too.

“Okay.  I’ve got you.  Stand up?” she prompts, careful to make it a question, not a command.  

It takes him several seconds to actually do it.  His body seems sluggish, like he’s been in the same position forever.  The minute he’s up, though, she leads him to the middle of the room, and sits.  He mirrors her, sitting down cross-legged, too.  Their knees would be touching if they were the same size.  They’re still holding hands.

“Look at my eyes, and breathe slow.  Match my breathing.  Like this,” she takes an exaggerated slow breath and lets it out.

Jesus does, too, a few seconds later. They do this until they’re in sync with each other.  Until he seems more focused.  More here.

She doesn’t talk.  When he tries, she can see him tense up, the rocking gets more intense, so she cues him to breathe instead.  It takes a long time for him to be able to talk at all.  But Mariana’s patient.  Knows he needs to know that she has time for him.  That she can’t be in a rush.  The point of this whole thing, she’s pretty sure, is that there’s been too much frantic energy, and not enough clear communication and calm energy.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently.

He nods.  Shrugs.  Finally, shakes his head no.  The rocking looks exhausting, but he’s obviously not in control of it, or it’s serving some other purpose for him.

“He was behind me…” Jesus whispers, his eyes dark.  Worried.

“Brandon was behind you, yeah,” Mari confirms.

“I didn’t say yes…”

Mariana takes a slow deep breath, so her own anger doesn’t show.  She gets that they were just trying to help, but something like that makes things so much worse for him.  Why didn’t Moms get her in the first place?  She’s always there when Jesus is panicky.  They know what each other needs.  He knows what she needs, too.  Has helped her before.

“Then he shouldn’t have done that,” she says firmly.  

“They asked me about it freshman year - about him being there instead of Mom - but the way they said it it was like they already decided…so what was I supposed to say?” he asks softly.  

Tears shine in his eyes and make a lump rise in Mariana’s own throat.  She swallows them back, but he’s already seen them, and the rocking gets intense again.  Almost frantic.

“Hey.  I’m okay.  Do me a favor and look at our knees.  Are they touching?”

“I can’t stop,” he says, begging.

“You’re okay.  I’ve got you.  Look at our knees.”

He does.  

“Are they touching?”

“No.”

“Okay.  What about our hands?  Can you tell me if they’re touching?”

“Yeah…” he manages, sniffing once.  “It’s my fault.  This whole thing.  They hate me.  I know better.  I did it when I know better.”

In seconds, he’s looking distant again and she squeezes his hands hard.  “Stay with me, okay?  This is not your fault.  Whatever happened.  Can I ask you something?” she asks and waits for him to nod.  “Did you eat dinner tonight?”

When he doesn’t respond, she moves to his side.  Asks him to stand up with her.  She holds onto him, and they walk together to the fridge.  The whole time, Mariana narrates what she’s doing.  Why.  Who the food’s for.  While they wait for the microwave to beep, she catches a flash of something like agony in his eyes.

“I’m going to make sure you can eat, okay?”

He swallows.  Nods.  She keeps a good grip on him.  Makes sure they’re standing in the middle of the room, still.  Not by any walls or surfaces.  He’s still rocking on his feet, back and forth.  She sways with him.  Maybe it will help.

It was easy enough for Moms to overlook, considering they were losing their minds about Jesus being gone.  Mari, herself, had experienced a wall of numbness and shock she hadn’t known was still in her.  This time, there had been tears.  Because this time she knew just how long it could be before she saw him again.

But growing up how she and Jesus had, Mariana knew food would always be an issue.  It was for her, in subtler ways.  In the way her own heartbeat sped up yesterday at the sight of the empty cupboards and fridge.  In the desperation she felt when she let them know there was no food here.

For her, Mom going grocery shopping had been enough to kill the feeling, but Jesus has years more experience with food issues than she does.  He needs to eat.  On time.  Every day.  Or he spins out of control.

When the microwave beeps, she walks him out to the living room with the plate.  If he’s on the couch, the rocking won’t hurt anything.

Jesus wraps his arms around his stomach, still rocking.  His eyes are focused on the plate full of chicken, potatoes and peas, but he doesn’t make a move for it.

So she does.  

Mariana takes the plate and scoops a bite of mashed potatoes for him.  Holds it out.  It takes a while for him to take it, because she’s not about to force him to eat.  He has to feel okay opening his mouth on his own.  And if she’s patient enough, he can get there.

She keeps up a steady rhythm, and they’re making progress.  Mariana’s eyes wander to behind Jesus where Mama is walking soundlessly into the living room, where she leaves Jesus’s blanket on the coffee table, next to his bottle of super-intense anxiety meds, for when he has panic attacks and can’t get control of himself.

She makes eye contact with him.  Sees the way he shakes his head at the pills.  

“I won’t make you take it.  You calmed down by yourself, right?”

“Yeah,” he manages between bites.  His voice is hoarse.

He finishes, and she checks in with him again.  “Can I put your blanket around you?”

“I just wanna hold it.”

Mariana nods, giving it to him to hold onto.

“Can you keep holding  _me_?” he asks.

“I can,” Mariana nods.  “You know it’s not your fault?”  

He shakes his head.  “I don’t feel anything.”  (Jesus sounds numb, how she felt earlier tonight, when she thought he might be missing again.)

“It’s a scary feeling, but I’m here.  No matter what, I’m here.”

“Nothing makes sense.”

She’s quiet, just holding him tighter.  She keeps Moms back.  Keeps it really low-key for the rest of the night.  Even though Frankie should be in bed, she insists she wants to see Jesus.

“You okay to see Frankie for a bit?” Mariana checks.  “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.  Or if you don’t feel safe.”

“No, I want to,” he says.

–

Frankie scoots down all the stairs on her butt.  She needs to see her best buddy, Jesus.

She walks very quiet to the living room where Jesus is on the couch.  She just needs to see him.  She doesn’t know why.  Her brain is just telling her it needs to see him really bad.

Stopping in front of him, Frankie just looks, no touching.  (‘Specially no touching without asking.)

“Hey,” Jesus says, like his voice is broken.

“Hey,” she says back.

He uncrunches his yellow blanket from his hands and puts it spread-out on his lap.  Then pats it.  Nods his head at her.

“Cuddle?” she whispers, not moving.

“Yeah.  Cuddle.  Come here, buddy,” Jesus says.

So Frankie climbs up and she’s stuck not turned around, so they’re staring at each other, but not rude.  She wraps her arms around his neck, and her body shakes.  She doesn’t know why.  Just, maybe Jesus got tooken to another bad guy’s house and Frankie could never see him again.

“I heared you screaming that word back up.  No bad guys can get you.  I’m your super strong forceshield.  No bad things get in when I hold onto you like this, huh?” she whispers in his ear.

Frankie’s voice is shaking but she makes it talk.  Needs her buddy to know that she’ll protect him from all the bad things, bad guys, bad everything.

Mariana’s there, and holding onto Jesus, too.  So they’re all stuck together.  

“Thank you, buddy.  That helps,” Jesus says.  He wraps her in his yellow blanket and holds onto her and she feels like the most amazing.  She never got to be inside of the yellow blanket before.

She lays her head down and listens to his heart go inside his chest.  That means he’s all alive and okay.  “These stairs got big railings for giants.  And really slippery steps.”

“When you go down them…” Jesus tells her quiet and slow.  “Or up them…  And if no one’s there with you, you yell for me.  I’ll come and help you.  Don’t worry about indoor voice.  You make sure I hear you, so I know you need help.”

“Then what?” she asks, almost-sleeping-but-not.

“Then, I’ll help you.  I’ll help you walk safely.”

“That’s how come you yelled, right?  So Mari heared and came and helped you.”

“Yeah.  That’s right,” he nods, patting her on the back the best way she likes.  It makes her go right to sleep.

–

Jesus holds Frankie for a long time.  It’s calming, because kinda like Pearl, he feels like Frankie understands him.  And she’s tiny, but she’s big enough that she grounds him.  For a while, every time Mariana tried to take her and lay her down upstairs, she’d make this crying noise, and he’d say to leave her.

“Do you need to talk to Moms tonight?” Mariana asks, finally giving up on him putting Frankie down for the time being.  She’s holding on tight to his collar, even in sleep.  

“They hate me,” he says, sure of it.  “They blamed me.  Said I  _knew better_.  Like I did it on purpose.”

“So, you do need to talk to them? But not if they’re freaked out,” she says at the same time as Jesus adds, “But not if they’re freaked out.”

She grins.  So does he.  “Twins,” they chorus.

“I asked them to do Porch Time.  You know, like calm down.  Let’s talk about this and be really calm and clear about what you mean, but Mom said no.”

“Yeah, I hope her and Mama are doing some breathing and grounding…” Mariana comments sarcastically.  “I’ll stay, if you wanna talk to them together.  You guys shouldn’t go to bed with things this messy between you.”

“Callie,” she calls, seeing their sister in the kitchen after a late-night snack.  

“Yeah?”

“Come sit with Jesus a second?  I’m gonna put Frankie to bed and get Moms.”

“Sure.  Here.  Catch.”

Jesus has his hands up before he even knows what he’s catching.  He snags the single, wrapped piece of cheese.  Callie sits beside him with her own.

Frankie keeps clinging on him like a vine and whining when Mariana tries to take her out of Jesus’s arms.

“It’s okay, buddy.  I’m here.  I’m gonna be here tomorrow.  We’ll hang out and play.  I promise.”

But the only way she’s calm and doesn’t totally wake up freaked out is if they leave the blanket around her.

“It’s fine,” he says.  

“I’ll find Night-Night when we go upstairs and bring yours back,” Mariana says.

Callie sits beside him on the couch.  Her cheese is already gone.  Slowly, he opens his.  Nibbles a corner.  Then puts the whole rest of it in his mouth and swallows, barely chewing.

“Guess what?” she asks conspiratorially.

He inclines his head her way.  

“I failed at Candy Land.  Frankie beat me.  Like, she literally won the whole game.”

“Nice,” he says, smiling a little.

“Missed you tonight,” she says lightly.  “Were you okay?”

“Yeah…I uh…met the neighbor…” he shares.  

“Grandpa has a neighbor?”

“Yeah.  Let me use the computer to talk to Dr. H.”

“That’s awesome,” Callie says, impressed.  “So, Moms don’t want you over there or what?”

“We…uh…didn’t get that far,” he admits.

Mariana walks back in with Moms, and Callie gets up and leaves them alone to talk.  Sitting back down on the couch, Mariana gives Jesus his blanket back, as promised.

Moms sit in chairs across the room, quiet.  Mom’s eyes look red.  Mama looks so tired.

Jesus reaches for Mariana’s arms and puts them around himself.  He feels better this way.  He’s about to speak up, but at the last second, it’s like the words are all jammed inside.  Just like that, he’s restless again.

“Sit up.  Tall,” Mariana whispers.  “You’ve got this.  I’m here.”

Jesus tries.  It helps.  A little.  But he still can’t talk.  ‘Cause if he tries he’s afraid he’s just gonna lose it and either self-destruct or cry.  He’s not ready for them to see him with his guard down again.  Not this soon.

He nods at Mariana.

“Jesus needs you to know that he’s worried that you guys blame him for what happened.  He thinks you hate him.”

“Why isn’t he telling us himself?” Mom asks.

An undercurrent of something zips through Jesus’s body making him shudder.

“Because we can both tell you’re angry right now, and I’m pretty sure he’s using all his energy to stay in control.  He doesn’t have anymore to use to make sure he advocates for himself in the right way, because there _is no right way_.”

Jesus’s eyes widen.  Wow.  Mariana really does have his back.

“He tried to talk to you guys about what he needed, and you shut him down,” Mariana says evenly.  “So now you’re getting it from me.”

“Tell them how you feel,” Jesus sees Mama whisper to Mom.  They’re like two islands, both hurting and needing somebody else to help them to make things right.

“I’m not angry…” Mom manages.  Her voice sounds strained.  Strange.  “I’m scared.”

“Why?” Jesus asks.

“Because I thought we’d lost you again…and I was the last person to see you.  If something had happened to you, I’d have blamed myself.  I  _do_ blame myself.”  She clears her throat.  “It’s hard for me to talk about that, so instead, I blamed you.  And I am so sorry.  I don’t hate you.  It’s just the opposite.  I love you so much I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“But you didn’t listen to what I needed.  And you thought I was faking or something when I was really needing help,” he says, feeling goosebumps rise on his arms.  Hadn’t he just said the same thing to Pearl?

“That was poorly handled by me.” Mom admits.  “I should have stepped away and taken a break if I wasn’t going to help the situation.”

“You made it worse.  So much worse by what you said…” he says, not able to look her in the eye.  “You said something that…it’s my worst fear, okay?”

“Okay.  Mama explained.  I have a lot I need to work on.  And I think that for the time being…until I can be calmer for you…I need to take a step back and let Mama help you.”

“Are you mad?”

“Not at all.  But I am feeling a little raw.  And when that happens, I can say things I don’t mean and do more harm than good.  Since I don’t want to hurt you with what I’m saying, I’m going to take a step back. Is that clear?” she asks.

Jesus nods, cautious.  “Can I say what I heard?”

“Please,” Mama encourages.

“So, you can’t help if I’m overwhelmed…because you’re overwhelmed…and you might say stuff that hurts my feelings, you’re gonna keep your distance and let Mama help?”

“Yes, that’s right.  It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Jesus.  It means I do.  Very much.”

He stands and walks over to her.  Nods for her to stand, too.  “Hug?” he asks.

She puts her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“I’m sorry, too, my baby.  Is your head okay?”

“Yeah.  I think…” he ventures.

“Okay.”

She’s waiting for something, he can tell.  He looks at her, questions in his eyes.

“I do not blame you.  This was not your fault.  I just need you to tell me when your plans change.  And I would very much like to know where you were.  When you’re ready to share.”

“I got stuck.  Couldn’t move.  Outside.  And someone came and helped me.”

“Okay.  I’m very glad to know that someone helped you, Jesus.  But we need to know where you are.”

“Yeah.”

“So you need to tell us, yes?”

He nods.

“Okay.  Is there anything else you need to tell us?” Mom asks.

There is so much, but there isn’t time for it all.  So he thrusts his hand out for Mom to read.

“Water?  Right, they made you get rid of your water at the airport.  We can help with that.”

They give him several bottles, and he keeps them all next to him.  They say good night, and once everyone is in bed, Jesus checks the locks and the windows.  Then he brings his backpack and his blanket and his sweatshirt under the table.  His three waters.

He takes all the blankets from the living room and makes his tent again so no one looking in the giant window can see him sleeping there.

Then he curls up and tries to sleep.

But his head hurts.  And his heart hurts.  And there is still so much wrong.

He thinks about Pearl next door.  Does she ever feel like this?  

Maybe if Jesus can ever go back and talk to her, he’ll ask her.  He tries to think about the safest thing from today.  Grace, Pearl’s dog, fills his mind.

He falls asleep picturing her face.

 


	11. Chapter 11

At 2:13 AM, Jesus jerks awake, as the shower upstairs goes on.  Under the table, he holds absolutely still.  Waits.  His head still hurts.  He feels in the dark for his backpack.  Pulls it closer.  Puts his head under his blanket.

His heart’s racing.

Somebody’s awake.

–

Callie’s eyes open and she squints.  The door’s open, and it wasn’t when they went to bed.  She flips on the bedside lamp.  Frankie’s snoring, totally asleep.  But the air mattress across the room is empty.

Where’s Mariana?

Soundlessly, Callie gets out of bed and walks out on the landing.  Right away, she sees the crack of light under the bathroom door.  She knocks softly.  Listens.  Hears Mari crying and the shower running.

Maybe Mariana didn’t hear.  Whatever the reason she didn’t answer, something’s obviously wrong.  It’s walking back into their room when it hits her.  She gets down beside the air mattress and lets out a sympathetic “Oh…”  

The sheets are wet.

Wordlessly, Callie gathers them in her arms. She cracks the bathroom door and takes Mariana’s pajamas to wash, spying her overnight bag already in there with her.  

“Mariana?” Callie calls softly.  “I’m in here, too.”

“Why?” Mariana insists, still crying.

“Because you obviously need somebody,” Callie says.  

In the closet, she finds a small tub, and a bottle of detergent.  She adds the sheets and PJs to the tub.  Then, she fills the tub with lukewarm water and adds a little of the detergent.  Callie’s not about to let Moms discover this when it’s a week old and leave Mariana without pajamas in the process.

Mariana steps out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her.  She stares at Callie.  “What are you doing?”

“Laundry…” Callie says, because obviously.

“Why are you doing it like a pioneer?” Mariana quips, drying her hair.

“Because, Grandpa  _lives_  like a pioneer and doesn’t have a washing machine.”

Callie lets the clothes and sheets soak and returns to the bedroom with a can of Lysol to make sure the air mattress is clean.

That can dry while she waits for the clothes.  Mariana comes out, dressed in tomorrow’s clothes, because she only brought enough for the week.  Twenty minutes later, they both return to the bathroom and Callie swishes the clothes in the sudsy water for a couple minutes before she replaces the water with no detergent, and presses it to the bottom of the container, to rinse it.  Once no suds show up, she takes everything and wrings it out.  Mariana helps drape everything over the shower curtain rod to dry.

“Come to bed with us…” Callie whispers, watching her sister curl up on the bare mattress.

“No.  I don’t want to ruin Grandpa’s mattress.  I did enough damage to this one…”

“Okay…” Callie drags out the word and then opens the bedroom closet for a couple blankets.  She still has a pillow.  She covers Mariana and then drops onto the mattress next to her.  “Moms don’t have to know…” she whispers, putting an arm around Mariana.

“I think they’ll get the idea when they find sheets hanging in the bathroom with my pajamas…” Mariana mumbles darkly.

“So, we’ll move them before they wake up…as long as they’re not really drippy, it should be fine to keep them here with the door closed.”

Mariana shrugs.  One tear escapes.  Then another.  “I haven’t done this since Jesus first went missing.  It’s humiliating.”

Callie holds her close.  She keeps it together so amazingly.  But after last night, all of them are shaken up.  “Well, we just thought he was again…” she points out.  “It makes sense.”

Mariana cries for a little longer, and then, Callie whips out her secret weapon:  “My dear,” she says, like her alter-ego, an elderly British woman, Mrs. Georgina Feathersby-Longbottom, “Please come sleep in the queen bed with us.  You _are_  a queen, after all…”

“I’m not.”

“Why, of course you are,” Callie continues, in full British accent, draping a blanket around Mariana’s shoulders.  “Your robe, Queen Mariana.”

“Stop…” Mariana giggles.  

“No, I  simply will not.  Not until you come and experience the softness of this bed…and the love of your sisters who will never  _judge you_ …” Callie stares at Mariana until she caves, crawling into bed on one side of Frankie, while Callie gets in on the other.  She turns out the light.

“I love you, Callie.” Mariana says.  (Because you never know, Callie knows.)

“Love you, too,” she says back.  No accent.  “I’ll set an alarm to grab the sheets before Moms get up.”

“Um…you don’t have a phone…” Mariana points out.

“Crap.  You’re right.  Maybe  _you_  should set an alarm.”

How could Callie forget her interminable grounding from her phone for having absolutely no tact or respect and taking pictures of Jesus without asking him first.  Her project is coming along, but it’s very different than she first imagined it.

“Stooop taaalking…” Frankie whines.  Callie dodges her flailing arm and narrowly avoids being smacked in the face.

“Got it.” Mariana whispers.

Finally, it’s quiet.  But Callie finds herself awake, thinking, long into the night.

–

Pearl’s up at 3:30, but not hoarse for the first time in a long time.  That’s because this is the first night in she doesn’t know how long that she hasn’t woken up screaming.  She still was up half a dozen times, breathless and hyper.  Her dreams were still unsettling, but not terrifying.

She journals some and then turns her laptop on and sees Pav online:

“Hey.  Morning.” Pearl greets.

“Morning,” Pav says back.  

Pearl studies her friend.  Dark circles are under her eyes.  She seems stressed.  “You okay?  Need to talk?” Pearl checks.

“No, I’d actually prefer if you did.  I’d like to think about anything else.”

“Okay…well…did I tell you what happened yesterday?”

“No.”

“My neighbor’s family is staying at his place for a week.  Turns out I met his grandson.”

“Is he cute?” Pav asks, a rare smile brightening her face.

“He’s sixteen…” Pearl reprimands, grossed out.  “Anyway, he came over for a while and we hung out.  Turns out we have a lot in common.”

“You sound happy,” Pav observes.

“Yeah, I guess I am.  It’s been awhile since I’ve had anybody here, like, actually in the cabin, here.  You know I love you and Char.”

“But part of why you love us is that it’s from afar,” Pav fills in, knowingly.

“Right.  With this kid, I mean…it wasn’t like that.  I guess at the time I wasn’t crazy about having him here, but once he left, I started running down the whole visit in my mind, you know?”

“Over-analyzing,” Pav smiles.  “Yeah, I know.”

“And I realized…he was here for several hours…just needed a break from his family, I think…but I realized…I wasn’t triggered once when he was here.”

“Wow.   _That’s_  huge…” Pav says, impressed.  “Seem like he was comfortable there?  You mentioned he stayed a while.  You think he’ll be back?”

“It sounds ridiculous coming from me, but I kinda hope he does?  Because, honestly, after everything happened to me?  My friends kinda slowly drifted away.  I kept trying to hang out with them, but I couldn’t do big groups because it was too unpredictable…and then…even when I hung out with somebody one-on-one, inevitably, you know?  Somebody makes a rape joke.  Or laughs at one.  Or knows the guy and tells me how great he is and I just want to vomit.”

Gracie’s under the desk this morning.  She perks up at Pearl’s bouncing leg, and rests her head in Pearl’s lap.

“This is the first time I didn’t feel totally…insufficient…I guess…around somebody else.  I had something to offer.”

“I’m happy for you,” Pav says, and Pearl believes her.  They root for each other in the survivor’s world, not against each other.

When Pav has to go, Pearl watches out the window, peeking around her blackout shades.  It’s about the time Jesus came out on the back step yesterday.  Usually, Pearl would never walk Gracie at the same time, the same route two days in a row, but she just really wants to check on him.  Feels protective of him.

She doesn’t see him, but she gets an idea and rushes to the kitchen, finding a black Sharpie marker on the way.  This way, when she does see him, she’ll be ready.

–

Stef stumbles out of bed.  She’d gotten so little sleep last night, it was ridiculous.  One of the kids’ alarm kept going off on their phone at 5 AM and then they kept going in and out of the bathroom like elephants.  (To say nothing of the nightmares that kept waking her: dead kids, like the ones she ID’d over the four years Jesus was missing.  Only this time, it was his body on the table.

She’s on her way to the bathroom herself when something stops her.  A foot sticking out from blankets draped around the table.  It makes Stef feel like vomiting.  Or passing out.  She remembers her dream with sickening clarity.  Forces herself to pull back the blanket and look.

“Jesus…” she gasps.

He sits up abruptly, looking alarmed.

“What are you _doing_  under there?  You can’t sleep under the dining room table, love.  It’s cold and it’s not sanitary.” **  
**

“I’ve lived worse…” he says, his voice flat.

“Yes, I understand that.  Please, come out of there, before Grandpa’s neighbor sees you and thinks we treat you like Harry Potter…”

“You don’t…” he offers, crawling out.  

She crosses her arms to ward off the impulse to offer him a hand.  She doesn’t want to scare him.

–

Jesus has a raging headache.  And Mom’s sneak-attack on him has his heart going a million miles an hour.  He feels his world coming down, as Stef takes all the blankets off the table and folds them roughly.

He darts back under the table for his backpack, his sweatshirt, his three waters and his blanket.  Before Mom rage-folds that, too.  

“You don’t need to go disappearing to the neighbor’s house either, for that matter.  Unless you’re invited.  Do you really think they’re okay with people just showing up, unannounced?” she rants as she folds.

His head aches.  Not again.  He can’t be in trouble already.  The day isn’t even started.

Before she can stop him, he stands up and goes for his coat.  Opens the back door and stands on the step.  He just needs to breathe.

Just like yesterday, he sees Pearl, but this time, Jesus is hugely embarrassed and turns his face away from her.  From Grace.

He hears her say “Morning, Jesus!” but doesn’t say anything back.  He’s tense, because Stef is still yelling inside, asking what he thinks he’s doing.

“Heads up,” Pearl calls, and something comes flying through the air at him.  He catches it.  Smiles against his will:

Swiss Miss hot chocolate.  And scrawled on the package?

**_FROM P & G_ **

Next to the  ** _G_**  is a paw print in black Sharpie.

Jesus tucks it in his pocket and walks back inside because Stef’s knocking on the window like they are nowhere near done.


	12. Chapter 12

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t walk away from me while we’re talking,” Stef says, voice strained.

Jesus breathes.  Tries not to give into the energy she’s putting out and yell back at her.  His head is killing him, so he’d rather not find himself bashing it again, either.  But he’s got no backup.  Everyone else is still sleeping.

“What did you need to do out there so urgently?”

“See that dog,” he mumbles.

“Yes, and I suppose the dog threw you something, too?  What was it?”

Jesus’s hand goes to his pocket protectively.  “Nothing,” he says.  

“You cannot just take things from people, love.”

“I didn’t.  They gave it to me,” Jesus says.

“Hey, what’s going on down here?” Mama asks.

Jesus hurries to her side, his arms full of everything he needs, gathered from where he left it on the table.  Better to be next to her than around Mom’s crazy energy.  (He’d have no idea she loved him at all anymore if he hadn’t heard it last night.  The way she’s talking to him right now?  It doesn’t make him feel loved.)

“He’s sleeping under the table!” Stef hisses.

“So?” Mama asks.  “Honey, I’m sure Jesus has a good reason for sleeping where he is.  All the bedrooms have doors here, right?” she asks, looking to Jesus for confirmation.

He nods even though it makes his headache worse.

“If he’s sleeping under the table, it means he feels safer there than he does in his room with Brandon and Jude.  Is that right?”

Nod.

“So, I’m the bad guy.  Again,” Stef says, tossing the blankets in the living room forcefully.  She goes back to their room, and shuts the door harder than necessary.

Jesus winces.  

“Come here.  Sit down with me,” Mama urges, walking to the couch and patting a space next to her.  

He does, setting his sweatshirt, waters and blanket next to him.  He keeps the backpack on, reversed, over his coat.  Until he has the chance to move the hot chocolate packet to his bag, Jesus wants both his coat and his bag close.

“Are you nervous, honey?” she asks.

“Why?” he asks.

“Your bag’s turned around.”

Jesus meets her eyes, surprised.  “Yeah, I am.  ‘Cause Mom was mad at me again,  And I didn’t even do anything this time, I swear.  She just thinks I can’t do anything.”

(Mama can just sit there and the words pour out of Jesus.  It’s a character flaw about her that’s not a flaw at all.  People just open up to her.)

“Things have been pretty hard for you,” she observes.

Jesus winces again.

“Is your head bothering you?” Mama asks, concerned.

“It’s okay…” he hedges.  He shifts away from her a little.  Doesn’t need this right now.

“I know being hurt is a trigger for you, Jesus.  I need to see what’s wrong in order to know how to help you feel better.  Is that something you can tolerate?”

Is she kidding?  He’s tolerated so much more than somebody looking at his head.  He nods.

“Yes?” she checks.

“Yeah.  Fine.”

But when she reaches out and cups one hand behind his head, feeling the massive goose egg he’s got growing back there, Jesus can’t take it.  Feels blindsided.

His mind does something weird this time: instead of going to Level 1 (distant, but here) Level 2 (Cookie Land, to cope when he’s hungry or when stuff is getting to be too much) or Level 3 (automatic, that comes with panic attacks) it does something else.

_A memory:_

_Jesus is five.  In the grocery store with Stef and Lena, and touching everything in an overstimulated kid-frenzy.  (He and Mariana had never been in a grocery store before.  It was what he imagined heaven was like.  More food than he could ever eat.)  He touches all the fruit, and everything on the shelves, not even hearing Stef and Lena talking._

_Only when Lena gets in front of him, and down on his level, blocking him from banging on the cabinet with all the desserts in it can he focus on her.  “We look with our eyes, Jesus.  Not with our hands.”_

_In the end, he and Mariana had been put in the cart.  Him in back, and Mari in front._

Right about now, Jesus wishes he could make Mama stay in a cart or something.  For something to make her stop touching him like this without even asking first.

When something cold is pressed into his hands, Jesus blinks:

“What?” he asks, his voice flat.

“Ice, bud.  For your head.  Put it back there,” Mama prompts.

He does.  But being cold like this makes him feel stuck.  Like he can’t talk for real to her about all the touching without consent that’s been happening.

“You okay?” she asks gently.  “You want some Tylenol?”

Jesus shakes his head once.

“You know,” she says after a minute.  “I think you might feel much better after a shower.  Grandpa did say we could all use it.  Including you.”

Jesus takes the ice off his head.  Forces his voice to work.  “I will, I promise, but can I ask a question?”  He feels desperate, or he would never disagree after Lena touched him, but he needs to know.

“Of course, Jesus.  You don’t have to ask permission,” she says gently, but he doesn’t trust the gentleness right now.

“What about Pearl?” he asks.  His voice is still flat, but with a bit of an edge.

“Who?”

“The neighbor.  Can I still go over?”

“What did you do over there yesterday?” Mama wonders.  

“She let me call Dr. Hitchens.  So I could keep my Monday appointment.  We Skyped.”

“What about the rest of the time?” Mama presses.  “That explains an hour, but what else were you doing?”

“Hanging out.  I just needed a break.  It’s quieter over there.  She and Dr. H. agreed I could come back if I need to again.”

“Okay, well, I’d still feel better if I talked to her first.”

“Mama, why?  Seriously.  Please don’t embarrass me.”  Jesus says it before he can think it through.  Flinches.  

Jesus knows she sees it, but she smiles and says, “It’s my job to embarrass my teenage children a little.”

(That doesn’t help.  Back Then, He used to humiliate Jesus for fun.  Isaac, too.  Probably Ethan, the last boy He took right before Jesus got away.)

“In order to feel comfortable having you go there, I need to meet her myself.  Say hello.  Check her out.” Lena reasons.

“She’s not a bad person.  She’s nice,” Jesus insists.  (God.  What is he doing talking back to her like this?  Shut up, shut up, shut up.  _Just play dumb.  You’re good at that,_ His voice sneaks in,)

“Honey.  You have such a good heart,” Lena says, like she feels bad for him.  “You see good in everyone you meet.  But everyone is not good.  I’m not saying Peal’s bad.  Just that I would like to see for myself.”

Jesus clenches his teeth, insult making his ears burn.  He has no idea where Moms got the sense that he had such piss-poor judgment.  By his way of thinking, Jesus had a better gut instinct about people than anyone else in his family _because_  of what he’d been through.  But they insist that he’s dumb about this stuff, which is worse than almost any other feeling for him.  Especially since He just crept into Jesus’s head like a stalker and told Jesus to play dumb.  Not good.

“So, keep this with you,” Lena says, gesturing to the ice pack.  “Take a shower, and while you do that, I’ll go next door and talk to Pearl.  You said she’s up?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.  When you’re done, we’ll have breakfast.”

Jesus’s stomach twists.  He wonderes if she realizes just how much of an ultimatum breakfast and Pearl sound like.  And combined with a shower as the bargaining chip, he just feels gross.  But he stands up, and takes his coat off.  Walks upstairs and finds his overnight bag on the landing, where he’s started keeping it, always unzipped, so he can get to his clothes without that awful sound.

“Hey,” Mariana says, crouching next to him.  (She’s already dressed.  That’s a first.)  “You okay today?”

“I gotta shower…” he mutters.  His heart beats hard.

“Need backup?” she asks.

“Kinda?”

Mariana’s quiet, thinking.  “So, how would you feel about wearing clothes in there?  Like shorts and a tee shirt?”

“Okay,” he says, reaching for them.

“Hey.  Stop.  Look at me,” she says, like he’s confusing her.

He does.

“Honesty’s our thing, remember?  You don’t have to “yes” me or “okay” me, ever.  I respect you as a person.  And I would never just want you to go along with what you think I want, if you’re not okay with it.”

“ _They_  think I’m dumb…” he admits, feeling miserable.

“Who?” Mariana looks ready to take them on.

“Moms.  Him.”

“He didn’t see you as a person.  He didn’t respect you.  But Moms do.  So what happened to make you think they don’t?”

Jesus shrugs.  “I gotta do this, though,” he says nodding toward the bathroom door.  “So, can you, like, give me five minutes in there with the water on, and if I’m not out, come get me?”

“Of course.  I can stand guard, too.  And sing.  Ooh.  What song should I sing?  I know some good ones.”

“You don’t have to…” he hedges.

“But you don’t have Brandon’s YouTube because of the crappy service here.  But…you do have me…  Come on.  Tell me what to sing, and I’ll sing it.”

“I won’t be able to hear you…” he mutters.

“Oh, I can be loud…” she grins.

“People are sleeping,” Brandon calls from the boys’ room.

“People should be up,” Mariana insists.

Jesus takes a deep breath and makes himself go into the bathroom.  Closes the door.  Locks it.

“Um.  Do I have your consent to pick this once five minutes are up?” Mariana asks.

“Yeah.  Yes.  Five minutes of water on, though.  Don’t start counting yet.”

“I’m not.  I think I’m gonna sing some Sam Smith.  What do you think?”

“No idea who that is.”

“Awesome.  That’s what I like to hear.” Mariana cheers.  

Jesus focuses on talking to her, not on taking off anything.  Or putting on anything.  He turns on the water gets in.  And outside the door, Mariana’s wailing some chorus that says “stay with me” a lot.  She picks the best songs.

With her singing, he doesn’t even need her to come get him.  He can do it himself.

His head still hurts.  And Moms still think he’s dumb as a brick, but the day is slowly getting better.  He drops the wet clothes on the ground and dries off, before getting dry ones on.  Mariana’s still singing.  

–

Pearl jumps as she hears a knock on her door.  She’s not expecting anyone, but her heart does a little leap at the thought that it could be Jesus coming to visit again.

She looks out the window.  Not him.  His mom.  His  _other_  mom.  Not Stef.  Gracie’s at her side.  So Pearl opens the door.  “Yes?”

“Pearl?  I’m Lena Adams Foster.  Jesus is my son.  You met yesterday.”

“Of course.  Come in,” Pearl says, swallowing.  Her least favorite words for unexpected company.  This was what she was afraid of.

“I just want to apologize if Jesus was an imposition at all.  I know he spent quite a bit of time here.”

“No.   _He_  wasn’t.”  Pearl doesn’t know if Lena catches exactly where her emphasis hits, but frankly, she doesn’t much care if she does.  Who apologizes for their son being traumatized?

Pearl stands, arms crossed, Gracie braced against her leg to keep Lena back.  Pearl doesn’t invite her to sit down.

“Jesus told me you said he could come back.  I was just checking that that’s actually okay with you. You don’t have to be polite with me.”

_Oh, don’t tempt me_ … Pearl thinks.

“Jesus is a great kid,” she says instead.  “He’s welcome back anytime he needs a break.  I told him that.  Now I’m telling you.  Run a background check on me.  Whatever you need to do to ease your mind, but don’t punish him for something he really needs.”

“Of course.  Well, thank you for letting me stop by unannounced.  You have a lovely place here.”

_Not like you gave me much choice_ …  Pearl thinks, on edge still.  Gracie nudges her hand.

Pearl clears her throat, nodding.  It keeps her from rushing Lena out the door and slamming it in her face.  Thankfully, this time, Lena takes the hint and lets herself out.

“I was wrong,” Pearl says, dragging in a breath.  “It’s not the thousands of children.  It’s their parents.”

Gracie stays close, barking lightly.  She knows when Pearl just needs a response.  To feel heard.  She’s a great listener.

–

Jesus survived the shower, with Mariana’s help.  Today, none of them go outside, and Jesus is pretty sure it’s because of him. Everything feels like it’s heaped in stipulations now.

(He got breakfast, and Mama talked to Pearl because Jesus took a shower.)  He started wondering what he’d have to do for lunch.  For dinner.  Would they let him have dinner after he freaked them out so much?

For now, he’s trying to focus on hanging out with Frankie, who had alerted him that she needed help down the stairs this morning by calling, “Backup!” at the top of her lungs.

Mom and Mama shook their heads, but Jesus rushed to meet her and carry her down. He liked  _being_  somebody’s backup for a change.  

“You promised you’d play with me, remember?” she’d asked.  But now, she seems totally uninterested.

“Hey, you said you wanted to play with me, right?” he checks.  

Mom and Mama are checking out the farm nearby, which is also part of Grandpa’s property.  Usually that would make Jesus feel hella anxious, but he needs a break from them.   Brandon’s in charge.  Which means he literally won’t take his eyes off Jesus.  It makes Jesus feel uneasy, but not as bad as if Mom and Mama were around.  Jude, Callie and Mariana are also right here.  So that adds to his security level.  

“Hold on,” Frankie says, putting a hand right in his face.  She mutters under her breath, making her stuffed bear and doll talk to each other

_“–gotta go check the lake again that he didn’t fall through the ice–”_

_“–I can’t believe–”_

_“–I can’t live if he’s gone again, okay?  I can’t do it again–”_

“What’s wrong with Happy and Dolly?” Jesus tries.

“No!” Frankie turns her back.  “You can’t be in the game.  That’s the whole point, okay?”

Jesus holds his hands up.  “Okay.  You sound mad, buddy,”

Frankie turns and glares at him.  “I am.”

“Well, I’m just gonna make a fort in the kitchen.  You can come inside if you want.  I’m probably just gonna…I don’t know…hang out and color.”

Jesus sends a look to Jude.   _Play along_ , he begs silently.

Jude’s eyes light up, thrilled at any chance to act.  “Hey, can I come in your fort?  I wanna color really bad.”

“Nope,” Jesus says.  “This fort can only fit me and the smallest person in our family.”

“Well, I can be small,” Jude insists, curling up.

“No, you can’t.  It’s only for Jesus and me or only Jesus or only me,” Frankie insists bossily.

Jesus raises his eyebrows.

“I think you may have just gotten evicted…” Callie mutters under her breath, looking away from the Chopped marathon on TV.

“It’s not even made yet,” Jesus argues lightly, picking out blankets from the living room and bringing them to the kitchen to redrape the table.  It’s done in a few minutes and he grabs paper and crayons and goes inside.

It’s not just that he’s trying to get Frankie to come talk to him.  Jesus really does need to express a lot and there’s no way to really do that without upsetting people around him.  So, he decides to try and draw it.  His head still hurts.  So he draws an egg with a crack in it.  Two eyes peer out of the crack, but what’s inside the egg stays hidden.  Kinda like Jesus is hidden away from Brandon’s staring.

He draws a nest and wonders where the Mom birds even are.  Not here.  The egg and the thing in the egg is all by itself.  Bummer.

–

Lena sits down at the table in the farmhouse and breathes in.  It’s cold.  But it’s also nice.  Because she has time to think and try to deal with everything that’s been going on lately.

“I think…” she says slowly “we may have made a big mistake coming up here.”

“I tried to warn you,” Stef insists, still looking sleep-deprived and stressed.

“Look, I don’t want to fight.  I just want to talk.  I want to know how you’re doing.”

“How am I doing?  Oh, I am fabulous, Lena.  I’m having dreams about identifying my son’s body…”

Wordless, Lena gets up and walks around the table.  Wraps her arms around Stef from behind.  She can’t imagine the pain Stef carries.  “You could wake me…”

“Why?  So you have the awful images burned into your brain, too?” Stef manages.  “No.  Let’s talk about something else.  Please.”

“Okay.  What do you know about this neighbor of your dad’s?  Pearl-something?”

“Pearl  _West_?  An annoying little kid.  That’s what I remember.”  But it perks her up.  Stef laughs a little.  “I remember this one time up here.  I was thirteen, and she was two.  And she somehow got a hold of my dad’s pliers, and without me seeing her, she got behind me and pinched my butt so hard I had a bruise.”

“No,” Lena gasps, laughing.  “That sounds terrible, honey.”

“Yeah, you sound really broken up about it…  Then, let’s see…I kept my distance.  By the time I was eighteen and she was seven, she was chasing me around asking me to play Barbies with her.  When I was twenty and came up to the cabin to visit for a weekend, she was there.  This skinny as a rail nine-year-old, wanting to know how I did my hair.  What music I listened to.  And of course, if I’d play Barbies with her.  Last time I saw her, she was fourteen.  I came to one of my dad’s barbecues with Mike.  Brandon was about a year old.  She offered to hold him, and never put him down.  She walked around with him, sang to him, played with him.  I didn’t worry about him the whole day, because she took such good care of him.”

Lena raises her eyebrows.  “So, there’s no need for a background check on her?”

Stef noisily expels a breath that turns into a laugh.  “Pearl West? She is the last person who I’d run a check on.  But that probably means I should.  It’s always the ones you don’t suspect, right?”

Lena can see in Stef’s eyes that she’s only half-kidding.

“Why?  What’s your take on her?  You met her, right?  This morning?  How is she now?”

Lena considers this.  “Closed.  Protective of Jesus, though.  Definitely different than you describe her.”

“Well, it’s been, what, seventeen years since I’ve seen her?  People change, love.”

“That they do.  What do you think about Jesus?” Lena tries, cautious.

“Well, I wish he wasn’t sleeping under the dining room table for one thing.  I think he’s fine to go to Pearl’s as needed.  You said Holly also signed off on that?”

“Apparently, they had an entire session on Skype,” Lena offers.

“Huh,” Stef muses.

“There’s just so much going on with him.  It’s hard to know where to start.  It’s like we have to juggle constantly.”

“Then what must it be like for  _him_?”

“Right!” Lena confirms.  “And how do we help him?  I feel so ineffectual right now.”

“I think we just do our best, love.  I need to apologize for snapping at him again this morning and you can keep trying to talk to him.  We need to check in with the other kids, too.  B seemed a little freaked out by Jesus last night.”

“We were all freaked out by that, it’s safe to say,” Lena insists.

“We should probably head back.  I don’t want to leave them alone for too long, especially as we can’t contact each other,” Stef says, getting up.

“Wait,” Lena says, wrapping her arms around Stef.  “I just want to say I love you, and I’m here.”

Stef leans in and kisses her gently.  “I love you.  And when I get myself together, I’ll be here, too.”

–

Frankie sits outside Jesus’s fort.  He’s inside coloring for real.  She feels jealous because coloring is her favorite but more mad because she doesn’t know why.

She kicks at the blankets hanging off the table.

“Buddy?  Is that you?” Jesus calls.

“I am not your buddy,” she pouts.

Jesus’s hand comes out of the blankets.  He pushes some crayons and some paper, too.  Frankie pushes them back at him.

Finally, she can’t stand it anymore and crawls inside, too.  This fort is the very best for coloring, but she’s still mad.  

She sees a picture of an egg all alone inside of a nest, eyes of a bird peeking out.

“Where’s its Moms?” she wonders.

“I don’t know.  Where do you think?”

“Maybe looking for the other bird…” she thinks out loud.

“You think this bird has a sister?”

“Brother…” Frankie whispers.  “And bad birds got him.”

“Oh.  How does this bird feel now?”

“Hiding.”

“It’s hiding in an egg, yeah.  What do you think it’s feeling that makes it wanna do that?”

Frankie takes a piece of paper and a blue crayon.  She draws a face and tears and pushes it toward him.

“S-A-D,” she spells.

“Yeah?  ‘Cause maybe it feels afraid that its brother is gone?”

Frankie shrugs.  “Maybe.”

“I think I would do the same thing that bird is doing.  I think I’d hide, too.”

“Were you playing hide and seek?” Frankie asks.

“What?” Jesus asks.  He hands her a blank paper to color and she just scribbles because it feels good.

“When Moms thought you were gone again for real?”

“No.  I got scared, and a friend helped me.”

“What friend?” Frankie asks.  

“Her name is Pearl, and she lives close by here.  And guess what else?”

“What?” Frankie asks, coloring some yellow.

“She has a dog.  A really nice dog.”

“Can I see it?”

“Yeah, maybe.  I’ll ask her sometime.  It’s important to ask first, right?”

“Yup.  I like our fort,” Frankie whispers.

“Me, too.”

She leans on Jesus’s arm and watches as he makes another shape next to the egg.

“What’s that?”

Jesus doesn’t talk.  So, Frankie just watches, very impressed, as wings and feet and a face and a beak come.  

“The bird’s brother came back…” she says quietly.  “Just like you did, huh?”

“Yeah.  Just like I did.” Jesus nods, and asks if he can give her head a kiss.  She says yes he can.

He does.

She doesn’t feel so mad anymore.

The kiss must’ve been magic.


	13. Chapter 13

Moms come back from the farm a half hour after they left.  It is not a long enough break from them.  Mama stops by the table first and lets Jesus know they’re okay with him going to Pearl’s as long as he comes back to Grandpa’s for meals. Next, Mom stands outside their fort and says, “Knock knock.”

“Mom,  _do not_  wreck this, okay?  Please,” Frankie begs, throwing her whole body over the pages they are coloring.

“No, I won’t, sweetie.  I just wondered if I could speak to Jesus.”

Frankie sends him a look, and he swallows.  “You stay here, if you want, okay?  I’m just gonna be in the kitchen here talking to Mom.”

“Don’t yell.”

“We won’t,” Jesus promises.  “Just regular talking.”

Jesus crawls out and stands up.  Takes a breath.  Just looks at her.  He has no idea what she wants to talk to him about now.

“I wanted to apologize for this morning, Jesus.  I shouldn’t have gotten after you about where you were sleeping.”

“Okay,” Jesus nods, swallowing.  His mind, though, is swirling with questions:  _Did Mama put her up to this?  Are they sorry for thinking Jesus is a dumbass?  Is Mama ever gonna say sorry for feeling his head without even asking him first?_

His arms are crossed.  So are hers.  Mom looks away first.  “I, uh, have to make a phone call.”

“I’ll get out of your way,” he says, watching her pick up Grandpa’s landline in the kitchen and get a notepad and a pencil.  She even grabs a phone book and starts paging through it.  (Jesus has never even seen one of those in real life, but it’s like a dictionary with a billion names in it.)

Jesus finally ducks back under the table to find Frankie trying her hand at making birds, too.

“Look!  The one in the egg got born!” she whispers excitedly.

“Cool,” Jesus says.  But he’s got an ear cocked to listen to whatever Mom’s saying on the phone.  She started out by telling whoever she was a cop with the San Diego Police Department, so it’s definitely not a regular thing.

“Jesus, what do birds eat?” Frankie whispers.

“Worms, I think.  Can you be quiet for a sec?” he asks gently.  

“Why?” Frankie asks.

“I’m trying to hear something,” Jesus tells her.

“Are we playing spies?” Frankie asks, her eyes wide.

“No, just please be quiet for, like, ten seconds.”

Frankie counts silently on her fingers.  It’s long enough for Jesus to make out the words:  _background check_ and  _Pearl West_.

“That’s ten seconds, Jesus,” Frankie informs him.

“Yeah, I got it.  Listen, I’m gonna go ask my friend with the dog when you can come meet them, okay?  I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Where?”

“You can see her cabin from the window.  You can watch me go, okay?  So you’ll know right where I am,” he reassures.

She wraps her arms around him.  “I wanna go with you,” she whimpers.

Jesus thinks a minute.  He hasn’t counted on Frankie being so worried about letting him out of her sight.

“Here.  Listen.  I’m gonna give you this to hang onto until dinner when I get back,” Jesus says, thinking on his feet.  He pushes up his sleeve, revealing four bracelets.  Two leather and two beaded.  He’s got more on the other wrist.  He picks the leather bracelet that he can tie, so it won’t fall of Frankie’s tiny wrist.

It’s just the distraction Frankie needs, and she watches with wide eyes as he ties it in place, so it’s snug.  

“Now, when you look at this, you can remember I’m just going to talk to my friend, and I’m gonna be back to have dinner with you,” he says.

Frankie hugs him hard.  “Promise you’ll ask if I can see the dog,” she whimpers.

“I will.  How about we go see Mariana together, so maybe you guys can hang out?  Watch Frozen?”

“Ooh, okay!” Frankie says, brightening.

He offers her a hand to stand up, and together they walk to the living room.  By now, Callie, Mariana and Jude are there.  Mama and Brandon are somewhere.  Jesus lets go of Frankie’s hand and she settles down next to Mari.

Jesus squats, so he can talk low but she’ll still be able to hear him:

“Listen.  I’m going next door for a bit.  Mama said it was cool as long as I came back in time for dinner.”

“Why are you telling me, Jesus?  I’m not Moms,” Mariana asks, confused.

“I know, but I don’t wanna tell them I’m going.  But I told you, and I told Frankie, so this time if they freak out, tell them I’m next door.”

“Hey, maybe set an alarm on your phone,” Mariana suggests.  “Just in case you get caught up talking or something?”

“That’s a good idea.”  Jesus does, before he can get distracted and forget.

“Jesus said we could watch out the window to see what cabin the dog is in,” Frankie pipes up.

“Okay, you wanna go watch?” Mari agrees.  “Let’s go.”

Jesus grabs his bag.  His blanket.  His headphones.  His three waters.  Puts his sweatshirt on.  Then his coat.  He eases the front door open and closed.  Then he crunches across the snow, finally able to let the anger he’s feeling about what the hell Mom is doing really come to the surface.

She’s seriously doing a background check on  _Pearl_?  How about doing a background check on the old cat lady who lived down the street from them in San Diego, whose Son used to creep on them from across the street in His car without Moms even knowing?  How about the days when He used to come home to Jesus chained in His basement and brag about talking to Mom and  _searching for Jesus_?  (Once he even brought back a HAVE YOU SEEN ME button with Jesus’s own face on it.)  Mom didn’t have a single clue about Him.  Didn’t run a background check on Him.  It’s not fair.  They think Jesus doesn’t have a sense of danger about people but the truth is, Moms are the ones who need to tune up their intuition.

Jesus is almost ranting to himself by the time he reaches Pearl’s cabin, but he takes a breath and forces himself to calm down.  It’s hard though, with the constant headache as a reminder of what an epic fail the last nineteen hours have been.

He knocks at the door, feeling his heart beating a mile a minute.  

What if she’s not even home?  Or changed her mind about having him back after talking to Mama?  Or what if she’s having a bad day, too, and him being here makes it worse, and…

The door swings open.

“Hey,” Pearl says, her face softening into a smile.  “I was hoping you’d stop by.”  

She and Grace back up so he can come inside.  It feels calm.  Smells like lavender and vanilla.  Jesus takes a breath.

“My moms are ruining my life,” he exclaims, before he stops himself.  “I mean, hi.”

“No, please.  Rant,” she gestures for him to go on.  

“Did you know they’re running a  _background check_  on you?”

–

Pearl appreciates that Jesus looks horrified at the idea, but says,  “I told them to.”

“What do you mean?” he looks confused.

“I mean, when your mom showed up here, I told her they could run a background check on me if it would put their minds at ease about you being here.  I’ve nothing to hide.  And if it will let them feel comfortable with you being here, it’s worth it.”

“No, it’s not,” Jesus continues, obviously deeply offended.  “It means they they think you’re some kind of creepy person.”

“Hermit,” Pearl coughs.

It makes Jesus stop short and laugh.

“You wanna take your coat off?  Stay a while?” she invites.  “You don’t have to do anything you’re not okay with.  It’s just kinda warm in here.”

“Yeah.  Thanks,” He shrugs out of it and hangs it on a hook by her door.

When he turns around again, he’s wincing.  

“You okay?” she asks.

“Just have a massive headache.  The fam was freaked out when I didn’t turn up til 6:00 yesterday and I don’t handle that energy well.  Have a hard time controlling my body,” he admits.

Pearl just listens.  Gracie is close by, listening, too.

“Does that ever happen to you?” Jesus asks finally.

Pearl’s having a hard time keeping up, but she tries.  “Do I have a hard time with my family and their energy?”

“Like, feel like they hate you and end up hurting yourself?”

“ _You_  hurt your head…” Pearl says, slowly, piecing it together.  “Does your family know?” she asks, concerned.

“It happened in front of them, so yeah, they know.”

“That specific thing has never happened, but I can definitely understand.  Keep talking, I’m listening,” Pearl says as she walks to the kitchen and puts some milk on the stove to heat and then gets some ice, Tylenol, and cookies.

“So many things are messed up about this trip.  They keep acting like I have no idea about how to tell if a person is good or not.  Like I’m the dumbest person ever.”

Pearl brings the ice and the Tylenol out and sets them on the table, next to a plate of leftover Christmas cookies.  “These are all just options,” she motions.  “For your head,” she points to the ice and medication.  “And your stomach.”  The cookies.  She grins.

Jesus doesn’t seem to be registering any of what Pearl’s set in front of him.  He looks anxious.  Rocks a little.

Pearl schools her face.  This is obviously not the time for lighthearted banter.  He’s upset.  “That sounds awful,” she offers, and he finally looks at her.

“Does your family treat you like you’re dumb?” he asks, and she can tell he’s hoping for a yes.  Anything so he won’t have to feel so alone.

“My mom…worries… _a lot_.  And sometimes that comes out in ways I’d rather it didn’t,” Pearl explains.  “I lived with her until I was twenty-four.  And then I  was finally, like,  _Mom, I have to live on my own_.  You know?  _I want to_.  And she was like,  _You won’t be able to take care of yourself_.  And it’s like wow.”

“Nice vote of confidence,” Jesus manages bitterly.

“Exactly.  It was her anxiety.  Because, guess what?  With Gracie, I  _can_ live on my own.  I have been for the last seven years.  You obviously have a good sense of people, because you trusted us,” Pearl pets Gracie lovingly.  “Your parents are gonna worry about you.  And sometimes it comes out in kind of insulting ways.”

Jesus nods.  “It’s just…someone from before in my life…like…made it his life’s work to make sure I always knew how dumb he thought I was.  So, that they think that…I don’t know…it like messes with my head.”

“Hey.  Look at my face?  I don’t know your parents.  The last time I saw Stef, she was married to a man, okay?  And I just met Lena this morning.  But what I know of them?  They don’t think you’re stupid.  It’s their anxiety about you.  They’re putting it on you, and that’s not fair.  But I highly doubt they think you’re stupid.”

“Hmm…” Jesus seems to consider this.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do your parents know this jerk who made it his life’s work to make you doubt yourself?” Pearl asks.  “Shoot.  The stove,” she remembers, rushing back out to make sure her milk’s not burning.

She stirs it, relieved that it seems okay after all.

“What are you doing?”

“Making hot cocoa.”

“On the  _stove_?” he asks, incredulous.

“It’s the only way to make it,” Pearl assures him.  The conversation stops while she finishes making the hot cocoa and pouring it into mugs.  She brings them out, and sets one in front of Jesus, taking the other for herself.

He eyes it.  

“Try this,” she urges.  “Trust me, you will never be the same.”

He squints at her, then sips, and she gets the pleasure of seeing his eyes light up.  “Oh my God this is good…” he moans.

“Right?” she nods.

Gracie sits right in front of Pearl, waiting in case she should spill (which she won’t because she doesn’t want to poison her best friend with chocolate.)

“So…they  _did_  know him….kind of?” Jesus admits, picking up their previous conversation as if it was never dropped.  Then he does something strange.  He looks at her for a long time and asks,  “You seriously don’t recognize me?”

“ _Should_  I?” she asks carefully, and Gracie moves closer, sensing the spike in Pearl’s anxiety.

“It’s just…what happened to me…it was on the news a lot,” Jesus shrugs.  “Usually, people know of me before I can really get to know them.”

“Well I don’t watch much TV.  And I’m pretty selective about my news,” Pearl tells him.

“Huh.  Thanks, that helps.”

“Does it?” she asks, curious.

“Yeah, I hate it when people already know what happened to me.  Takes the choice out of it.  You know?  If I even  _wanna_  disclose.  They assume it’s fine to just talk about it.  To ask me questions about it.  Or tell me how they feel about it.  Like it’s a moment in their life, not the worst ones of mine.”

Pearl nods.  She gets it.  “You’re rocking again.  You okay?”

“Yeah.  No.  Not really, I guess.  I don’t usually talk about this,” he bites his lip.

“You don’t have to,” Pearl reassures.  “If I ever overstep, just tell me to back off.”

“I can’t,” Jesus manages.  He’s up now.  Pacing.

Pearl recognizes this Jesus.  This is how he was yesterday.  Stilted.  Overwhelmed to the point where talking was difficult.  She thinks about the last thing he said.  He can’t tell her to back off, so she does it herself.  Doesn’t talk for a full sixty seconds.  When she does again, it’s only necessary questions.

“Do you need to talk to your therapist again?”

He grimaces.

“Do you know any calming techniques?” she tries.

“They  _don’t work_!  It’s always like too little too late!  Like what’s the point of breathing deep when I’ve already lost it?!”

“No.  You’re right.  That doesn’t make much sense,” Pearl nods, sympathetic.

She waits, but his agitation doesn’t go away, it gets worse.  He’s making a complete loop around her cabin, the same way she does when her thoughts start to spin out of control.  Gracie stares at Pearl.

It makes her think of what Gracie’s next move is when Pearl gets too wound up.

The next time Jesus ends up in the living room, Pearl stops him.  “I wanna show you something,” she says and walks to the corner of the room.

She pulls the fiber optic curtain and waits.


	14. Chapter 14

Jesus doesn’t have any idea what Pearl wants to show him.  It looks like fabric hanging from the ceiling.  “What?” he finally asks.

“It’s a swing,” she explains.  “Gracie brings me over to it when things get…when I start to lose it.  You can use it if you want.”

“Nah.  No way.  I think I’d break it,” Jesus hesitates, backing up.

“It’s for adults.  You’re not gonna break it,” Pearl reassures patiently, while Grace stands guard next to her.

“What do I do?”

“Just climb in if you want.  That curtain’s fiber optic and I’ve got some purple LED lights in it.  Sometimes I turn out the other lights, so I can focus better on the purple ones.

Hesitantly, Jesus approaches the swing.  He’s super self-conscious, so he pulls the curtain closed first.  Then he thinks better of it and goes out to the cabin to get his backpack and brings it into the corner where the swing is, too.

First, Jesus sets the backpack in the swing.  Frowns.  It seems okay.  “You’re sure I won’t break it?” he calls.

“I’m sure.  It’s really okay, Jesus.  It’s just an option.  If you don’t like it, you can always get out.  Or if you don’t want to try it, you don’t have to.”

His head is seriously killing him.  Will the swing cure that?

Gingerly, he gets in, holding his breath.  Immediately, he feels enveloped.  Held.  But not trapped.  It’s a good kind of pressure, and best of all?  It’s not coming from a person.

When he rocks in here, the swing just sways back and forth.  He doesn’t hurt his head or his back.  Tears spring to his eyes.  He’s beyond relieved.

“How’s it going in there?” Pearl asks casually.

“Good, yeah.  Can I see the purple lights?”

“Of course.  I’m gonna come right outside the curtain so I can turn them on.  I won’t come in.  It’s gonna be close to you, so be ready.  Oh, do you want the room lights off?  It looks cooler with them off.”

“Off then,” he decides, feeling like he might never get out of this swing.

“Okay.  I’m turning these lights on in front of you.”  

Jesus closes his eyes.

She turns them on, then tells him she’s turning the room lights off.

“Okay, all set.”

He opens one eye, and lets out a breath.  It’s amazing.  Like the glitter in the bottle, except a million times better.  He stares at it, mesmerized, letting the tension seep out of his body.  He swings for a while.  He doesn’t know how long, before his head throbs again.

“Pearl?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have that Tylenol still?”

“You sure can,” she encourages.  He can hear her stand up and walk to the coffee table.  Walk to the corner.  “I’ll put my hand through when you’re ready…or I can have Gracie bring it to you.  Preference?”

“Gracie,” Jesus whispers.

Jesus can hear Pearl whisper to Gracie and in seconds, her furry head is there, and she is face to face with him, pill bottle in her mouth.

“Put your hand out and she’ll drop it for you,” Pearl cues.

Jesus does.  

Gracie gives it to him, just like Pearl said.

Errand done, Gracie leaves, and Jesus searches through his backpack for a bottle of water.  Downs two Tylenol and sets the bottle down.

“That reminds me,” he says a few minutes later.  “My little sis really wants to meet Gracie.  I promised her I’d ask you.  But you don’t have to say yes.”

“Can I think about it?” Pearl asks.  “I’m not too big on company…”

“Yeah.  Think about it,” Jesus encourages, feeling calmer already.  He wills the Tylenol to kick in.  “I feel so okay here.  But I know the minute I go back, it’s gonna be hard to deal with again.  People talking.  Touching me,” he shudders.  “Do people ever touch you without asking?” he asks softly.

“No.  I never give them the chance.  It’s just me out here.  So…”

“Must be nice to have your own space,” Jesus offers, feeling a little jealous.  Maybe whenever he moves out on his own, he can have a cabin.  Maybe he and Pearl can be neighbors.

Soon enough, though, he’s thinking about how messed up things are with his parents and he’s spitting out sentence fragments just expecting that Pearl will understand:

“I  _miss_  things.”

“How do you mean that?  You wish you had things you don’t have, or…?” Pearl asks.

“I mean…  I feel like my family - my  _Moms_  - think they’re being clear.  Like, what they’re saying would be clear to anybody else in my family, but it’s not to me.  ‘Cause I need what they’re saying to be super specific.  I feel like I miss obvious cues or words about what they mean.  ‘Cause a lot of times I’m in weird mindsets around them.  I have trouble with adults.”

“Are you okay around me?” Pearl asks, serious.

“Yeah, you’re just the right amount of specific.”

“Is there anything that helps with the mindsets?” Pearl wonders.

“For them to be really calm and clear and in control, but not like, controlling,” Jesus specifies.

“Do your Moms know that?”

“I thought they did, but ever since we got here it’s like they forgot.  Plus, like, obviously  _I_  have trauma…” Jesus stops, letting the swing do its thing and looks at the purple lights more intentionally, so he doesn’t wind himself up.  “But so do they.  And we’re all kinda triggered at different times…or the same time sometimes…  So that makes it hard for me to expect them to be calm, especially if we’re, like, freaking each other out without realizing.”

“But it’s what you need.” Pearl says.

“It is, but I don’t know if it’s fair for me to ask that from them.  I already screwed enough up.”

“What if it was your little sister?  Would you think something she needed was unreasonable?  Or your moms?”

“No.  Of course not.  It’d make sense if it was them.”

“It makes sense,” Pearl explains patiently, “that it’s you.  It makes sense that you need that stuff.”

Jesus can feel the headache start to subside.  “How’d you get so smart about all this?”

“Fifteen years living on the other side of a horrible night,” she says stoically.

Pause.

“Three years and two months out.  Four years and one month There,” Jesus shares, quietly.

“I think you’re coping really well,” Pearl tells him.  “If you need to talk to your therapist or to your parents, I think you should.  In whatever way works for you.  Write them a letter.  Send an email. If you struggle to talk to them face to face, there are other ways to go about talking to them.”

Jesus hears his phone alarm go off and swears under his breath.  He’s so not ready to go yet.

But he climbs out of the swing and walks over to get his coat.  “Sorry.  Gotta be home for dinner to avoid Moms’ wrath.”  He turns to face her, backpack on right, for once.  Looks her in the eye.  “Thanks for this.  Really.”  

“Can I walk you home?” she asks.

“It’s kinda light out still,” he observes.  “It’s okay.”

“I’d feel better if I could come with you,” she admits.  “But it’s your choice.”

“Well, I’m always gonna choose you over  _no_  you,” he sends her a small smile.

Pearl grabs her sweater, her gloves, her coat and her hat.  They set out toward Grandpa’s cabin, Gracie walking beside Pearl.

“I want you to know,” Peal says, focused ahead of them.  “That your needs are totally reasonable.  Four years not feeling safe, it’s no wonder you need what you need.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And my swing’s always available…unless I’m using it.  Then you get the next turn,” Pearl grins.  You’re a good kid.  And you have a good sense about people.  You’re not dumb,” she pauses.  “Do you believe me?”

“A little bit,” he nods.

They’re on the front steps.  She’s gonna knock, but Jesus has to tell her this first.  He looks down at her, and bites his lip:  

“I just wanted you to know…  It’s not just you out here anymore.  So if you need something this week, just let me know?”

She stares at him.  “How?  Trauma telepathy?” she asks dryly.

“Or a secret message on some inferior hot chocolate,” he suggests, smiling.  He sobers just as quickly.  “Do you believe me?” he checks.

“A little bit,” she admits, clearing her throat and knocking hard on the door, before turning and walking away with Gracie.

It’s snowing.  The exact kind Isaac loved.  Jesus tilts his face up to the sky and opens his mouth.  He catches a few snowflakes before the door opens.  Wonders if Isaac knows about Pearl?  About Gracie?

“Bro…  I met the best friend I’ve had since you…” Jesus says under his breath.

The sun breaks through the clouds just then, shining on his face, and then goes back behind them.

Jesus swallows, feeling tears block his throat.  He breathes.  “Yeah, love you, too…” Jesus whispers just before the cabin door’s pulled open and Frankie wraps herself around him.


	15. Chapter 15

“Can I pick you up, buddy?  I missed you,” Jesus says.

Frankie nods, obviously distracted by something, and he boosts her on his hip.

“Jesus, I am  _so_  sorry.  Moms said we have to take down our fort, so we can have dinner,” Frankie reports seriously.  “But they said we could make it again after if we wanted.”

“That sounds fair.  We wouldn’t want people’s feet in our fort anyway,” Jesus wrinkles his nose.

“Or the blankets to get messy,” Frankie nods.  She holds out her wrist.  “I still got this magical thing.”

“Wait.  It’s magical?  How did I not know this?” Jesus asks seriously, walking slowly into the kitchen.  His heart’s pounding.  If Mom grabs him today, he doesn’t know what will happen.

“Yeah.  It gots powers.”

There’s spaghetti on the table, and sauce with meatballs.  Garlic toast.  Green beans.  It smells amazing, but Jesus is still nervous.  Moms are here.  Are they gonna go off on him?  Can he eat?  (Lunch had been hard enough.  Mariana sitting right next to him, and a lot of prompting that he could eat.  Breakfast had been okay because he did what Mama said and showered so he knew it was okay to eat that.)

“Hey, bud,” Mama greets.  “Thanks for getting back in time for dinner.  That means a lot to Mom and me.”

“Pasketti powers!” Frankie exclaims thrusting her wrist out and making laser sound-effects.

Jesus puts Frankie down and just watches for a bit.  Makes sure Mom isn’t secretly pissed.  Remembers coming back There after being allowed to Trick-or-Treat when he was twelve.  That time, He’d been happy to let Jesus go, but so mad when he came home, even though he was early.

So, that’s how Jesus knows moods are never a sure thing - even if you do everything right.

He stands in the kitchen and watches as everybody gets called to the table.  He’s still in his jacket.  Still watching.

“Jesus, come sit down, love,” Mom invites.  

He walks over but can’t sit down comfortably in the chair without taking off his backpack.  

“Need help?” Jude asks, and he’s at Jesus’s side in no time.

He really does, but isn’t sure what, or how, or if he even wants it to be Jude who helps.  

“Come on.  We can put this down and hang your coat,” Jude encourages easily.

Back by the front door, Jesus lets out a breath, and Jude looks at him, sympathetic.

“I know.  It’s hard after people lose it.  To trust they’re not gonna hurt you or yell again.  But I’m here, and Callie and Mari and Frankie.  And even Brandon.  We’re all on your side.  I know what it’s like to be scared you’ll be hurt.”

Jesus shrugs out of his backpack and coat.  Jude takes the jacket from him and hangs it up.  “If you wanna sit by Mariana, I can move,” he offers.

Jesus nods, just a little.

Jude whispers to Mariana and then, like it’s no problem at all, takes his plate and moves to sit between Mama and Callie.

“Hey.  You wanna sit?” Mariana asks so naturally that he wants to hug her.

He does.  There’s already a plate there, with food on it.  A glass of milk by it.  But for a while, he just watches everyone else eat.  Listens to them talk as if nothing’s wrong.  He really needs to talk to Mama.  

Jesus thinks about Pearl’s words to him:  how if face to face is hard, he could do it another way.  He leans over and whispers to Mariana:

“Maybe after dinner, could you talk to Mama for me?  Tell her I need to talk to her about boundaries.  Like, when she has a lot of time and we won’t be interrupted?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.  Listen.  You can eat.  No one’s upset.  Just like lunch, remember?”

He shakes his head a little.  Wants to slide under the table.  To melt away.  It sucks to be having this much trouble around food again.

“Hey, Frankie…” Mariana calls.  “I think Jesus’s spaghetti power bracelet worked out awesome for you.  But I think Jesus needs some magical powers, too.  Can he have it back?”

“Oh yeah!  I forgot all about this thing,” she says, and holds out her wrist for Callie to untie the leather.  

She hands it to Mariana, who waits for Jesus to extend his own, and gently secures it around his wrist.  With the other bracelets he wears, his scars from years of being chained are covered up.  He doesn’t have to see them.

“Okay.  Now you have spaghetti powers, Jesus,” Mariana whispers seriously.  “You wanna test them out?”

He hesitantly picks up his fork.  Twirls some pasta around his fork and stabs a meatball to keep it in place.  Takes a bite.

“Frankie,” he says.  “Dude.  These powers really work.”

“I told you,” she laughs.

It’s still hard, and it still takes Mariana coaxing him and Moms and everybody talking about going into town sometime this week, like nothing’s wrong, for him to be able to finish.  Everybody else is already done, but they don’t leave him alone to eat.

Brandon comes by to clear his plate once Jesus makes it clear he’s done and doesn’t want anymore.  (They all know that’s a joke, he _always_ wants more.)  They have ice cream for dessert and Jesus eats that, no problem.

“Come sit in the living room with us,” Callie encourages, as everyone else takes over kitchen cleanup.  Frankie’s there, too, lugging the Candy Land box over.

“Do you guys wanna play this with me?” Frankie asks.

“Well, I obviously need to redeem myself,” Callie says seriously.  “You wanna join, Jesus?”

“Sure,” he says.  It’s what he says when he’s not sure at all.

“You can just watch if you want,” Callie says.

“Yeah, maybe…” he hedges.  His heart’s doing that funny thing again.  Because he’s not sure if Mariana’s gonna remember to ask Mama to talk or not.  Or how she’ll take it.

Soon enough, though, when Frankie draws a double yellow and happily passes Callie on the board, Mariana comes to talk to him:

“So, you’re on for tonight with Mama.  She said of course.   And that Mom can take the rest of us to a movie or something, so you can have lots of time to say whatever you need to.”

“Ooh!  Can we see  _Annie_?” Frankie asks.  

And that settles it.  Because two days of watching mostly cooking shows is too much for Frankie and she has been waiting to see this movie.  Turns out everyone else is eager to get out for a little while, too.  By Jesus’s estimations, they won’t be back until after nine o’clock tonight.  Should be enough time.  He hopes.

With everyone gone, and three whole hours to talk, Mama gets to work in the kitchen.  “We should have popcorn, too.  Come out here with me,” she invites.  Her tone is open.  Relaxed.  He stands nearby, wondering what the giant contraption is on the counter.

“You ever seen one of these?  It’s been too long since I made popcorn with a popcorn popper.”

“Not in the microwave?” he asks.

“No.  This kind is even better than microwave.  What do you want to drink?”

Jesus goes to the fridge and sees a 12-pack of Coke and a 12-pack of Welch’s grape soda.  He lingers, with the door open, staring at it.

“Find something you want?” Lena asks, and comes to stand next to him.  

He nods in the direction of the grape soda.  It’s the best he can do.

“Oh, good choice!” Mama says happily, taking out two cans.

Just about then, the popcorn popper comes to life and Jesus jumps a foot.

“It’s all right.  We can watch together, or you can get your headphones if you need them,” she suggests.

His head aches.  Why can’t it be like this all the time?  With Mama or Mom just offering options and taking the communication he can give?

In the end, Jesus just heads out to the living room and waits on the couch.  His backpack’s by his feet.  A piece of garlic bread has been added to his stash.  He can kinda smell it from here, or maybe he’s just imagining that.

Mama eventually comes out, too.  A giant bowl of popcorn and two cans of soda.  She sits beside him on the couch setting the bowl between them.  The sodas on the coffee table on coasters.  

Jesus closes his eyes.  (Seriously.  How hard is it to just ask?)

“Mariana said you wanted to talk about boundaries with me.”

Jesus nods.

Mama’s quiet, but then speaks up, softly.  “One of the boundaries in our family is that we don’t hurt each other.  Physically or otherwise.  So you don’t need to be afraid to talk to me, honey.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He risks a glance at her.  She’s sitting right there.  So close.  Which, he kinda expected, but he expected it to come after she asked if she could sit next to him, not that she’d just do it.

Jesus thinks about sliding down onto the floor, but Mama would probably suspect something was up then.  But she already does know something’s up because they’re here, and about to talk about boundaries.  He bends down and snags his blanket off the floor by his feet.  Holds onto it.

“Is there something you need me to know?” Mama asks gently.

“You  _already_ know,” Jesus whispers, studying the blanket in his lap.

When she doesn’t make the connection, Jesus doesn’t have a choice.  He slides from the couch to the floor and sits.

This seems to jolt her forward.  She comes down with him, so they’re on the same level.  Because if people are physically above him, it makes Jesus feel like he’s not important.  Mama at least remembers that Jesus used to not be allowed to sit on furniture, so he sat on the floor,  If he does this, it means something’s not right.

“Is something not right, Jesus?” she asks, looking like she’s worried.

Cautiously, he nods.  His heart’s beating a mile a minute and he might need to start rocking if this doesn’t go well.

“Is there something I can do to help?” she asks.

“Ask,” he says.  And takes a deep breath.  Thinks about Pearl saying it’s okay to need the stuff he needs.  It makes sense.  “One of my boundaries is asking before you sit by me…”

Mama blinks.  “You’re absolutely right, and I didn’t ask.  I should have.  So should we back this up?  I’ll come in again, when you’re ready.”

He nods, wondering if this is too good to be true.

Then, he waits as Mama actually gets up and goes back to the kitchen.  She stays out there.  Like, actually keeps her word.  Doesn’t talk to him.  Jesus eventually gets up, but he doesn’t sit on the couch this time.  He picks a chair.

He can see her now.  Nods at her.

She walks in again.  Pauses.  “Where would you feel most comfortable for me to be?”

“Here,” he nods at the footstool in front of him.

“Okay.”  She walks over.  Sits.  Looks at him.  

“Can I talk?” he asks, hating that he feels like he has to ask permission to even talk now.

“Jesus, you are a human being, my love, okay?  That means you have the right to speak your mind.  You have the right to feel safe.  You have the right to let me know if something isn’t right, so I can help fix it or make it better for you.  Don’t you remember that?”

“It’s hard,” he admits.  “This has been happening a lot.”

“Can you be any more specific?” she asks.

Something clicks inside his brain.  That’s totally a question he should ask when he isn’t sure.  If it’s okay.  But Mama just said he was a human and had rights and everything.  

“This…like…people not respecting my physical boundaries.  Sometimes, it’s small like tapping my shoulder when I have my headphones on.  Or like you sitting by me without asking.  Sometimes it’s a little bigger like how Mom grabbed me last night.  Sometimes, it’s huge, like Brandon…” Jesus’s throat swells, and he tries to cough.  “Like Brandon, um, getting behind me last night…or like you feeling my head this morning…”

Mama’s mouth drops open in a sad “oh.”  

“I didn’t realize we’d been so disrespectful of your boundaries, Jesus, and I am sorry.  I’m so sorry for this morning, bud.  I thought I was clear about wanting to touch your head.”

“You said you needed to  _see_  it, not touch it,” he offers, looking at her hands.  “So, when you  _did_  touch it…that surprised me.”

“I’m sure it did.  Part of being human and being a part of this family means you have the right to draw your own boundaries, and to have them respected.”

“That’s why…” he begins, a little awestruck.  “I’ve been kinda feeling less and less like a person.”

“I’m very sorry, honey, because you deserve to feel like a person one hundred percent of the time.” Mama says.  “Would you like to remind me of your boundaries again?  Do you think that would be helpful for you, or not?”

“Just don’t touch me, and don’t get in my space without asking first and hearing yes.  Like that expectation.  My boundaries are like all those expectations you hung up when it was just you and me and Mom.”

“Maybe we need to hang them on the wall this week…” Mama muses.  “Would that be okay for you, or would you feel embarrassed?”

“I don’t know…”

“Then we’ll keep it private,” Mama says certainly.  “Would you like to write them down together?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’m serious about this, Jesus.  Your safety is serious to me.”

They move to the kitchen, and Mama gets out the paper and markers.  He sits at the table, and she waits until he nods to ask if she can sit beside him.

She doesn’t move first.  She waits for him.  Offers him popcorn, which he takes and eats while he’s thinking.

“Can I write boundaries, not expectations?  ‘Cause expectations can shift,” he explains.

“You can write whatever you need to write, Jesus.  I’ll be here.  I’m paying attention.”

Jesus remembers the list of expectations from back when he first got home.  He had memorized it, because it had hung on the wall so long.  

**_BOUNDARIES (JUST FOR MOMS NOT FOR THE WALL)_ **

_NO VIOLENCE_

_No chaining me.  No handcuffing me.  No hitting me, even if I mess up.  No pulling my hair.  No messing with me, even if I am disrespectful please. Don’t rush at me.  Don’t yell at me.  Don’t dismiss me.  Even these things leave scars._

_NO INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE_

_Don’t say Something Else.  Don’t call me dumb or a dumbass or think I am dumb because I have a good sense about people, especially Pearl._

_MY BODY BELONGS TO ME.  PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY PICTURE, TOUCH ME OR SIT BY ME WITHOUT ASKING FIRST AND HEARING YES:_

_Not yeah.  Not sure.  Not okay.  Not nodding.  Not nothing.  Only yes is consent, and it only counts if I am present, not if I am saying it to agree with you._

_A CLOSED DOOR MEANS PRIVACY.  KNOCK FIRST AND WAIT TO HEAR COME IN BEFORE OPENING A DOOR:_

_This is for a curtain, beads or hanging blankets too.  Please ask before you move them or come in front of them and look at me._

Jesus pushes the list to Mama, so she can see it.  She takes time, really reading over each one slowly.

“These are really helpful, Jesus, thank you…and I want you to know I am very sorry for touching your head without asking you this morning and for implying you don’t have a good sense about people.  Sometimes, I still think of you as the little boy who moved in with us all those years ago.  But you’re not five years old anymore.”

“It makes me feel small when you say things like I have such a good heart, like that’s a bad thing,” Jesus admits.  “Like…I was around the worst person ever for years of my life, Mama.  That means I know for sure how to tell if a person’s bad, not that I’m naive.”  He traces NO INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE with a finger.  “Plus, He used to say I was a dumbass all the time, so when you guys think I’m dumb or that I do something dumb?  It makes me think that what He said was really true.”

“Jesus…  It is not true.  I don’t think you’re dumb.  I was feeling protective and I didn’t express that very well to you.  I think you are very  _smart_.”

“I’m not.”

“You very much are.  Can you look at me?” she asks.

Jesus peeks at her.  It’s the best he can do right now.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he makes himself say, because now she knows to listen for it.

“Do you feel comfortable asking for clarification if what I’m saying isn’t clear?”

“I was thinking actually…  What if I used that sentence you did earlier:   _Can you be any more specific?_   Then you could know that whatever isn’t clicking, and I need more info.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Mama smiles.


	16. Chapter 16

Pearl’s legs are getting shaky.  She’s stood by the window for so long watching Jesus but she can’t stop.  Not until he and Lena get up from the table, taking a piece of paper Jesus had written on with them.

She’s been here since he left.  Since she first came back to the cabin.  She can’t  _not_  worry about him - be protective of him - now that she knows what she knows.  Because she can’t see them anymore, Pearl finally pulls herself away from the window, making sure her blackout shades are in place.

She eats a quick (late) dinner and signs into Skype.

“What’s up?” Char asks when Pearl calls.

“Just spying on the neighbors…”

“Yeah, what’s up with this neighbor’s-grandson business yesterday?  Is he okay?  He’s not, like, creepy or anything, is he?”

“ _He’s_  not spying on _me_ through blackout shades….” Pearl points out.  “No, he’s fine.  He’s young and we have stuff in common.  I thought maybe I could help him…or we could help each other.  Turns out I might be right.”

“ _Stuff_ -stuff?” Char asks.  “Or just, you know, regular stuff?”

“ _Stuff_ -stuff,” Pearl clarifies.

“Well, yeah, then help him out.  Just not at your own expense.”

“I’m not,” Pearl denies.

“Oh yeah?  How many hours were you staring at him out the window?”

“Okay, unnecessary,” Pearl laughs.

“But  _true_.  Am I right, or am I right?”

“Of course you’re right,” Pearl concedes.

“Of course I am.  I’m older and wiser,” Char smiles.

“I’m worried about him.  He said his parents are ruining his life,” Pearl confides, feeling okay sharing only this much about what Jesus shared with her.

“How old is he?  Sounds like a teenager,” Char says suspicious now.

“He  _is_  a teenager,” Pearl laughs.  “Over here the last two days in a row.”

“Yeah, rub it in.  Gotta admit, I’m a little jealous of neighbor’s-grandson.  He gets to see you in person.”

“Trust me, I’m not a prize…”  Pearl quips casting a nervous glance out the window.  Gracie nudges her head onto Pearl’s lap and stays there. The bouncy leg again.  Such a giveaway.

“Yeah you are.  Don’t let what that slimeball did to you tell you different, all right?  You’re awesome.  Helping out baby survivors, and in person, no less…”

“That doesn’t make me awesome, Char.  It makes me human,” Pearl points out.

“Touché,” Char concedes.  “Well, night.  Love you.  Need anything, call me.  Text me.  Skype me.  Whatever.”

“Same,” Pearl says.  It’s been years and she still can’t say she loves anyone.  Pearl wonders if that will ever change.

–

After 9:30, everybody’s back.  Jesus missed them, but he needed this time with just Mama.  Even though he does really wish that he could go see a movie like they can.

Frankie’s sleeping already, so Mom carries her upstairs.

Jesus asked Mama to talk to Mom about his boundaries too, and maybe the other kids in private too, especially Brandon.  

Mariana updates him all about the movie and sings him snatches of the songs she heard in the movie.  It makes him wish even more that he got to go with them.  At the same time, though, he’s glad they got to have the experience.

In no time, another half hour has gone by.  Jesus goes up to the room with Brandon and Jude and hangs out on the couch, until Mama comes and knocks.

“You don’t have to pretend to sleep upstairs anymore, honey,” Mama encourages.  “Come downstairs with me.”

He does.

Only once they’re down there, does Jesus realize her arms are full of blankets.  

“What are those for?”

“Well, I want you to sleep where you’re comfortable, but the wood floor’s not the same as the carpet in your room.  You usually have quite a few blankets.”

“What about Mom?  She doesn’t want me sleeping here…” he hedges.

“She understands it’s something you need to feel safe and now that she knows you’ll be under here, she’s okay with it.  Assuming you’ll be warm enough.  So, take these and lay them out on the floor however you like.  I can get you more to cover up with if you need them.”

“Thank you,” he says.  (This is so much better than last night.)

He piles all the blankets the way he likes them and waits by the table for Mama to pass by again.  Before she can, though, Mom comes, with even more blankets.

“I just wanted to say good night,” she says, offering them to him.

“Good night,” he echoes, taking the blankets hesitantly.

“Mama says you two were busy tonight, doing some important work.”

“I guess,” he admits.

“I look forward to seeing it.  And I am very sorry for yesterday, Jesus.  It doesn’t make up for it, but I never should have grabbed you or treated you the way I did.  I was out of line.”

He looks away.  “You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he says, wanting to absolve her.

“I do.  I do because I hurt you and scared you, love.  And I demeaned you.  And there is never an excuse to treat another person that way.  Especially one that I value as much as I value you.”

“Okay,” he says.  He doesn’t feel valued by her yet.  Still is wondering if Mama put her up to this, but he isn’t brave enough to ask.

“Did you have a good time with Pearl?” she asks, and Jesus remembers, just like that.  Mom running a background check on her but not Him.  It feels like betrayal.

“Yeah.  Fine,” he says.

“Do you know I’ve known her most of her life?” Mom says with a small smile on her face.

_Why are you checking her out then?  Is it her you don’t trust or me?_  All the questions fight to be asked, but Jesus’s head throbs and he remembers last night and clams up.  It’s too soon for another fight.

They’re trying.

He should, too.

“Yeah, she mentioned that,” he says, casting a look at the floor, covered in blankets under the table.  Hopes Mom will get the hint.

“Well, see you in the morning, love,” she says.

“Try not to freak out when you see me under here?” he blurts.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.  I love you, Jesus.”

He wants to say it back because that’s what you do, but the words stick in his throat.

Probably because they don’t feel true yet.

Jesus crawls under the table on his new pile of blankets.  It’s a lot softer.  The blankets on him are a lot warmer than just his one yellow blanket.

Maybe things are turning around, he thinks.  But then his head aches and he wishes for Pearl.  For her swing.  And her Tylenol.

Not tonight.

But maybe tomorrow.

 


	17. Chapter 17

On New Year’s Eve, Pearl wakes up early again.  3:45 AM.  That means she’s managed (somehow) to sleep in a little.  She has to spend several minutes convincing herself that the dream she had last night of Gracie eating so much food that she grew to the size of a service dinosaur would not come true.

Not her usual dream, but not a great one.  Her heart’s still beating a little fast, but she cuddles Gracie, whispering, “I’m so glad you’re not a dinosaur,” and Gracie stays in place, lying on Pearl’s chest until Pearl feels calm enough to get up.

She does some self-care, journaling about the dinosaur dream:

_12-31-14_

_4:01 AM_

_So I just had this weirdly scary dream that Gracie was the size of a brontosaurus and I could not walk her or feed her or anything because she was so massive.  Every time she tried to calm me down, she ended up crushing me, or knocking me over or taking my whole arm into her mouth because she was trying to pull me somewhere I needed to go._

_Do I think that knowing Jesus is a huge responsibility?  That knowing him is getting too intense?  I don’t feel overwhelmed by Gracie being here, but Jesus is the first major change I have had in my life since Gracie actually came into my life.  Maybe Char is right and I should watch how invested I get.  I do need to be sure I prioritize myself and not lose sight of my own mental health being there for him…  Still, I don’t FEEL like he is a huge responsibility or that he is too intense at all.  I feel like we get each other.  I feel ok around him and that’s rare._

_I should be glad.  This really is a step up from dreaming about driving under threat of my life or constantly smelling the woods that i am not even in.  Still, I’d rather my dog be a normal size._

_Pearl_

Pearl closes her journal and swings for a bit. Checks Skype for Pav, but she’s not on today.  She’s getting breakfast together, around 8:00, when it occurs to her just how little is here.  Dread fills her.  She’s going to have to go shopping.  Not tomorrow.  Not next week.  (Because Pearl pushes these things if they can be pushed, for  _as long_  as they can  _possibly_  be pushed.)  Today.  She’s out of bread, milk, oatmeal, juice, and Gracie needs dog food.

Just the thought of going to the Super One in Crosby makes her mouth dry and her palms sweat.  Gracie’s at her side in no time, trying to distract her from the obnoxious hand tremors.

She needs to do this.  Gracie needs food.  Pearl had to scrape the bottom of the bin to get her enough for this morning.  She’s going to need more by tonight.  But just the thought has her pacing.  Tears forming in her eyes.

“I can’t do this.  I really can’t do this.  God.  I should have gone earlier, but now I don’t have a choice!’  Pearl curls up on the couch, and Gracie joins her, licking her face.

“Don’t!  I don’t deserve love right now!  I’m a horrible person!  I can’t even go to the store to buy you food without freaking out…” she exclaims.

Gracie doesn’t listen.  Stays close.  

Pearl glances out the window.  Jesus is out on the back step.  Scanning.  Waiting to see if she and Gracie will come out.  But she can’t come out, or she’ll probably start crying, and that’ll be embarrassing.  

…But he  _had_  said if she needed something this week to let him know…

Instead, she waits until he goes back inside and picks up her phone.  Dials Frank’s landline next door, and immediately regrets it.  

(They’re on vacation!  Like they want a phone call at 8:15 in the morning from a woman distraught about the prospect of grocery shopping!)

“Hey.  Pearl?” Jesus answers on the second ring.  

“Yeah, it’s me.  Listen, I have kind of a weird favor to ask…”

–

“What’s up?” Jesus wonders.  This is the first time Pearl has called.  The first time Grandpa’s phone has rung since they arrived.

“I have to go to the store,” Pearl says and Jesus can hear her voice shake a little.  “And that’s kind of stressful for me.  I was curious if you wanted to come with…keep me company?”

Jesus glances over his shoulder, where Mom’s reading a book at the table.  “I’d have to run it by Moms, but I’ll call you back.  I wanna be there.  And I’ll come if I can.  Okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.  No pressure.”

Jesus hangs up, and turns to Mom.  He’s still angry at her, but she was talking about how well she knew Pearl last night.  Maybe she’s a safer bet than Mama because of that.  Still, he keeps his distance.  She hasn’t torn down the blankets from around the table, but that could just be because he hasn’t pissed her off yet.

“Pearl wanted to know if I could go into town with her.  She has to run to the store,” Jesus says in a rush.

“Yeah?  Well, I think this is something you should talk through a little more first,” she advises, setting her book aside.

“Is Mama up?” he asks.  (The more days go by, the later everyone is sleeping in.  It’s already 8:20 and breakfast isn’t even in progress yet.)

Oh.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he tells Mom, hurrying upstairs and knocking quietly on the girls’ door.  “Hey, Mari?  You up for being a human I-Pod for me?”

“Yeah, give me a second…” she yawns from behind the door.

It’s more than a second, but it gives Jesus time to pick out his clothes.  He goes with the most boring jeans and plain shirt he brought, because if he’s going into town he’ll see people, and people might recognize him.  Better to blend in.

Finally, Mariana comes out, blowing air through her lips and making her voice go up and down.  He smirks.

“What song is  _that_?” he asks, smirking.

“I’m _warming up_ , Jesus,” she says witheringly.  “Unless you want your song to sound like an old man is singing.”

“No.  I mean, do that.  Warm up,” he says.  He waits until she says she’s ready and offers to sing  _Tomorrow_  from  _Annie_ , as long as he’s not bothered by it.

“No.  It’s fine,” he nods.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.  You know me.  Never pass up an opportunity to perform.”  She smiles.

He knows the truth though:  Mariana likes to sleep and sleep  _late_.  The fact that she’s been up before noon the past two days while on vacation is a pretty big sacrifice on her part.

Jesus showers and when he’s done (no problems today either), Mariana goes back to bed.  Downstairs, Mama and Mom are cooking breakfast.  “French toast?” he asks, his eyes going to the clock behind them.  8:30.

“That’s right,” Mama says,  flipping a piece.  “So, did I hear that Pearl called?”

“She did.  She has to go to the store and asked if I could come with her…” Jesus repeats.

“How do you feel about it?” Mama asks him.  (Mom gives him regular toast with peanut butter and jelly to eat while he waits.  It helps him relax just a little.)

“I feel…nervous about being recognized…and that it’s a store and I don’t really go shopping much…but she’s my friend and I wanna help,” Jesus tries to explain.  “What do you guys think?” he asks, trying for it to just be a question, nothing more.

Back Then, he used to ask Him what He thought of things on purpose, in order to get what he needed.  It was manipulative.  He doesn’t need to manipulate Moms.  To them, it can just be a question, because he does respect them and their opinions.

“To be honest, love, I’m nervous at the idea of you being in a car with her,” Mama admits.  “I don’t know her very well yet.  And I’d like to know your friends a bit better before I feel comfortable with you in a car with them.”

Jesus bites his lip.  “But other than that.  Do you think it’s possible?”

“Slow down,” Mama cautions gently.  “Help us think about this.  How would you feel most comfortable getting to the store?  I know vehicles aren’t your favorite thing.”

“Well…if you’re really that concerned about Pearl driving me, one of you guys could drive us.”

“Back up!” Frankie calls.  “I need some back up, please!”

“Hold that thought,” Jesus says, getting up from his chair and climbing the stairs to give Frankie a lift down them.

“Morning, buddy!” Frankie says cheerfully.

“Good morning, buddy,” Jesus grins.  “How are you?”

“Hungry,” Frankie says.  “And I heared Mariana sing _Annie_  for you, so then I smelled all the good smells.”

“French toast,” he tells her, settling her in a chair near him.  “Moms and I are talking, okay?”

“I know.  I heared that, too,” Frankie nods.

“You know, I could drive them,” Mom volunteers.  “I mean, assuming it’s okay with Jesus.  I assume Pearl just goes up to the Super One.  It’s not far, and I can get some things, too.”

“To the _grocery store_?” Frankie asks, like they’re talking about the toy store.  

“Yes, my sweet.  Here, have some French toast,” Mama says, putting some on each of their plates.

“I love the grocery store,” Frankie sighs happily.  “‘Specially where it smells like bread.”

“That’s great, Frankie, but let’s hear from Jesus, okay?” Mama says.

“I think it’s cool if Mom drives.  Are you cool with her dog in the rental?” he asks.

“ _Oh_!  Your friend and the dog  _and_  the grocery store?” she exclaims all in one breath around bites of French toast.  “Can I come, please?  You said you asked her and she was thinking about me meeting the dog.  So can you please ask her if she’s done thinking now?”

Mom makes a face.  “Her  _dog_?  Seriously?”

Jesus turns to Frankie because it’s easier to explain it to her than it is to Mom.  “Listen, buddy.  My friend, Pearl?  Her dog’s name is Gracie.   Gracie’s job is–”

“Silly!  Dogs don’t got jobs!” Frankie laughs a forced laugh.

“Gracie  _does_  have a job.  You know how we have things that help us calm down, like our blankets?”

“Yeah.  Night-Night’s the best at that.”

“Some people have animals that can help with that, too.  They’re called service animals, because they’re helping their people.  Gracie’s job is to help Pearl.  That means we can’t pet Gracie, okay?  So she can stay focused on doing her job,” Jesus explains.

He waits, eating some French toast while Frankie thinks this over.  

When she turns to him again, a light of recognition is in her eyes, and Jesus is sure she gets it.  But instead she says, confident and certain:  “Guys.  I have to tell you this:  I have a service blanket.”

Mama coughs to cover up a laugh and Mom whispers to Jesus.  “Her dog is welcome in the rental, love.  Why don’t you call her back and ask when she’d like us to pick her up?”

–

Pearl has tried swinging.  She’s tried calming self-talk.  Music.  More journaling.  But all she can really do is watch the hours tick by and wonder if Jesus has forgotten all about her call.

Almost an hour later, her phone rings, and Pearl picks it up after half a ring, never happier to see the name Frank Cooper on the screen.

“Hello?” she asks, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Hey, it’s Jesus.  My moms said it’s okay for me to go with you, but they’re not comfortable with me in a car with you.  Is it okay if Stef drives us?”

Pearl’s distracted by a little voice in the background: “Ask her, Jesus, please!”

“And, my little sis is really wondering if you’re done thinking about whether or not she can meet Gracie.  I know it’s a lot.”  He waits.  “You can say no.”

“No, it’s fine, and actually Stef driving will really help.  That’s part of what makes shopping stressful,” she confides.

“Okay.  Well, when did you wanna go?  I’m ready, but we might need a few minutes for Mom and Frankie.”

“Wait.  Frankie?” Pearl asks, the name breaking through her panic.  “Your little sister’s name is Frankie.”

“Yeah.  Why?” Jesus wonders, a little amused.

“Is she named after Frank?” Pearl asks.

Jesus laughs.  “Yeah, she is.”

“Nice.  I’d like to go as soon as we can.  When you’re ready, you wanna just give me a call, and we’ll walk over?”

“Yeah.  No problem.  Hey Pearl?”

“Mmm-hmm?” she asks, still too shaky for comfort.

“Breathe.  It’s gonna be okay.  I’ll be with you.  Mom’s got her own shopping to do, and Frankie needs to smell the bread, so…you know…just you, me and Gracie.”

Pearl takes a deep breath.  “Thanks.”

“I’ll give you a call when we’re ready to go.” 


	18. Chapter 18

By the time Jesus calls back, Pearl feels exhausted.  Seeing as she’d be going out in public, Pearl had thought it prudent to take a shower.  Never easy, even with Gracie there in the bathroom with her.  Once done with that, Pearl had attempted to write out a grocery list, but her tremor wouldn’t allow it.

Instead, she’d used voice-to-text and texted herself all the items she would need, so as not to spend more time than she had to in the store.  Pearl glances at the clock on her phone as she’s walking out the door.  9:30 AM.  By now she’s usually connected with one of her safe people, but Pav hadn’t been reachable, and Char’s never up this early.

She struggles with her key, letting Gracie nudge the heck out of her hand to steady it.  When she’s able to successfully lock up, it hits her:

No, she didn’t touch base with Pav or Char this morning, but she did call Jesus.  Asked for help, even.  Time would tell if he was truly a safe person in all senses of the word.  (The fact that he’s still a minor has Pearl easing off on how much of her story she tells.  How much she leans on him for support.  Maybe in a couple years, she’ll feel differently.)

Pearl walks across the yard and spots Jesus, in his orange coat, backpack on.  Stef is there, too, calling out a greeting.

“Pearl.  Oh my gosh, how long has it been?” Stef wonders.  

“A while,” Pearl allows.  “Thank you for doing this.  I appreciate it.”

“Where do you wanna be?” Jesus asks.  “I’m not a huge fan of the passenger seat myself, but anywhere else works.”

“Anywhere but the driver’s seat,” she confides lowly.

“Hey, guys!” Frankie hollers.  “I got a service blanket!”

Pearl raises her eyebrow.  

“I  told her Gracie’s your service dog, and now she’s going on about how her blanket’s the same.  She’s only four, so…” Jesus shrugs apologetically.

“I’m four and three-quarters!” Frankie exclaims, apparently indignant at the idea of her age being incorrect.

Jesus gets in first, followed by Gracie.  Finally, Pearl takes a seat behind the passenger seat, buckling up. She turns to Frankie, buckled in a car seat in the middle of the back row of seats.  “My name is Pearl.  It’s nice to meet you.  What’s your name?”

“Frankie…” Frankie admits, suddenly shy.

Pearl glances at Jesus, who’s got a blanket around his shoulders and looks a little pale.  She can see Stef studying him in the rearview mirror.  

“Where are we headed, Pearl?  Super One, I assume?” Stef asks.

“Yeah,” she says, though her heart trips in her chest.

“Okay.  If I recall, it shouldn’t be too long in the car.  Maybe five  minutes.  You alright, Jesus?” Stef asks.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

Silently, Pearl offers her hand.  He hesitates, and then takes it.

“Friends holding hands?” Frankie asks incredulous, taking a break from whispering to Gracie.

“That’s right.  Friends hold hands,” Stef confirms, sending a grateful smile Pearl’s way.  “Do you know I still remember how good you were with Brandon at my dad’s cabin back in ‘97.”

“That was so long ago…” Pearl says, trying to breathe.

“Not so long,” Stef smiles.

Finally, they make it to the store and without being asked, Pearl and Gracie walk around and meet Jesus, who is looking a little ashen.  She didn’t know riding in a car was a trigger for him, or she never would have asked his help with this.

“You could have told me…” she whispers, as Stef gets Frankie unbuckled from the car seat and they walk in together.  Frankie’s on Stef’s hip.  She must really not be familiar with ice.

“No, I couldn’t.  Not if I wanted to actually be here for you.  If you’d known, you would’ve said never mind.  And I wanted to come.”

They get inside, and Stef picks a cart.  Before she can pick Frankie up and put her in, she’s petting Gracie.

“Nice doggy.  Good doggy.”

“Buddy, remember what we said?  No petting Gracie right now.  She’s working,” Jesus says, looking to Pearl who nods her thanks.

“Can I ever pet her?  What about if she has to go on a break?” Frankie asks seriously, as Stef lifts her into the cart.

“Yes.  Then you can pet her,” Pearl says.  “I’ll let you know when that is,” she says, attempting to gentle her tone a little, for the sake of the girl.

“Okay, well, Frankie and I have a few things to grab.  When you’re done, just give me a call,” Stef says to Jesus.

“Okay,” he nods.

Pearl’s distracted.  One of the cashiers is already looking her way.  She’s worked here for at least twenty years and has a memory like a steel trap.  Every single time Pearl has to get groceries, she also gets accosted by this woman who feels compelled to tell her that if she had been working that night, she would have helped.  Nothing would have gotten so bad.

Gracie’s on the case.  Staying close and making herself a barrier to keep people back.

“You okay?”  Jesus asks.

“If we could avoid Lane 2, that would make my life infinitely better,” she insists.  She pretends she doesn’t hear the obnoxious call of “Pearl!  PEARL!” and just keeps walking.  Jesus pulls his hood up.

“Nah, we’re gonna check out all the way at the other end…unless there’s somebody down there to avoid, too…” Jesus tries to lighten the mood.

“Can you tell me what I need.  My hands are…” she trails off, and she knows he can see them shaking.

“Yeah, no problem.  He reads off what she needs and walks with her to each aisle.  They’re looking for Gracie’s brand of dog food when a strange male voice stops them:

“Excuse me…  You look really familiar…”

At a glance, Pearl realizes she does know him: an uncle of someone she went to high school with.  But he definitely knows who she is, which means…

Pearl’s mouth drops open as she realizes he’s addressing Jesus.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Jesus says, looking right at him.

“Aren’t you Jesus Foster?” he presses.

“Josh Mitchell,” Jesus says so easily it raises the hair up off the back of Pearl’s neck.

The man squints, incredulous.  “I guess on second thought you don’t really look like him after all.  Sorry.  My mistake.”

When he walks away and Pearl and Jesus are alone again, she gapes:  “Who’s Josh Mitchell?”

Jesus shrugs, uncomfortable.  “He’s sorta my alter ego.  I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he says, and reads off the next item on Pearl’s list.

–

Just like that, Jesus has a killer headache again.  It had been okay with water and rest and Tylenol from yesterday, but having to name-drop the name He gave him to hide in plain sight for four years was seriously intense.  And he’s at a store.

Ever since he put his escape plan into action three years back, to get himself arrested by breaking TVs at a Target in LA, he’s tried to avoid shopping in stores.  It gives him weird spikes in his anxiety, remembering Then and what he’d had to do.  How he had to be arrested (handcuffed) before the cops could know the real story and Stef could come.

Plus, there’s another problem.  And it’s embarrassing.  This morning, Jesus smuggled some bacon into his backpack and now Gracie won’t stop sniffing it.  She’s usually good and minds her own business but if she doesn’t stop smelling his backpack, she’s gonna give away what he’s doing.

On the way by the medicine aisle, Jesus picks up a bottle of Tylenol.  He never spends any of his own money, and he finds it beyond hard to take meds for anything because usually they have to be given to him.  His anxiety meds still give him anxiety to take.  Maybe if he buys his own Tylenol, he’ll feel safer taking it.

“Your head still hurt?” Pearl asks.

“Yeah, rando dude didn’t help…” he admits.

“People need to mind their own business, and so do _dogs_.  Gracie.  Nose to yourself,” she reprimands lightly the forty-fifth time (probably) she’s sniffed Jesus’s bag.

They pass free samples and Jesus can’t resist.  He asks for two and offers Pearl one, but she says no thank you.  They walk for a bit until they’re by themselves in an aisle where Pearl looks for oatmeal.

Jesus is so used to doing what he does next that he forgets Pearl’s watching.  Until she speaks:

“Did you just put that sample mini pizza in your backpack?” she asks.

He looks at her - this close to lying to her face - when he remembers he doesn’t have to lie to her.  He’s okay.  He’s not Josh.  Not really.

“Yeah…” he admits.  “I mean, it’s free, right?”

“I don’t know if you’re really allowed to do that.  I mean, I think it’s okay as a one time thing.  Like, since you didn’t realize…  But just so you know for next time.”

Jesus’s ears burn.  How embarrassing.  He’s managed to fly below the radar around Moms with this, but it just figures that Pearl would catch him at it the very first time he did it around her.

“Are you okay?”  she asks.

“Yeah.  You know.  Food issues.  Whatever,” he shrugs.

–

Pearl blinks.

Shopping with Jesus is nothing like shopping alone.  Apparently, he has an alter ego, and a level of recognizability so high that even people in other states know who he is.  And he has food issues so severe he’s hoarding the free samples in the grocery store.

She quickly finishes up, and they go through the checkout lane farthest away from Lane 2.  But a voice behind her in line pipes up:

“Miss?  No dogs allowed.”

Pearl turns, looking at the pimply faced (obviously new) employee.  She doesn’t recognize him.  Maybe a classmate’s kid.  His name tag reads NEIL.

“She’s a service dog.  She’s allowed,” Pearl insists, her voice shaking.  Jesus steps from ahead of her in line, to behind her, blocking the employee from her, while Gracie does the same, braced against one of Pearl’s legs.

“You need certification for that.  How do I know she’s a real service dog, and you aren’t just lying about it?”

“Dude.  Back off.  She doesn’t owe you anything,” Jesus says.  His usually gentle voice is low and menacing.  He takes a step toward Neil.  He’s at least a head taller and more sturdily built than the pipsqueak who’s suddenly an expert in service animals.

“Who are you?  Her bodyguard?” Neil asks.

“You are  _so_  gonna get fired,” Jesus insists.  “Seriously, where do you get off harassing people?”

“Let’s just go,” Pearl says, having finished paying.  They get outside, where she doubles over, gasping.

“You okay?” Jesus asks, as Gracie leans on her.

“Your thing is rando dudes….mine is entitled assholes…okay?” she gasps.  It isn’t until she’s able to stand up again that she realizes Jesus never once tried to touch her.  In fact, he’s done the opposite, trying to keep people back.

“Should I text my mom?” Jesus asks

“Yeah.  Please.”

In a few minutes, Stef and Frankie rejoin them and they all reload into the SUV.  Pearl hopes she doesn’t look too shaken.

“Everything go okay?” Stef asks.

“Yeah.  Pretty much,” Jesus answers for both of them.

They ride in relative silence, Jesus hanging onto Pearl’s jacket sleeve.  (This time, she’d offered it, not her hand.  He’s accepted regardless.)

“You know, Pearl, I was wondering if you’d like to come over tonight.  Celebrate New Year’s Eve with us?” she asks.

Pearl’s chest aches.  Stef’s tone is so warm.  So inviting.  She’s so just like the cool teenager Pearl wanted to impress and be just like.  It’s so hard to say no to her.  A million thoughts go through her mind:

_Is Stef asking to be nice?  Does she expect Pearl to politely demure?_

_Is she asking genuinely and would it be rude to say no?  (Stef did just do her a pretty big favor by driving her here…)_

Pimply-faced Neil fills her mind.  Her heart rate speeds up, and Gracie’s at attention.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Stef says, rescuing her.  “And if you do want to come and just stay for a while, you’re welcome to do that, too.  We’d love to have you.”

“Maybe,” Pearl admits, surprising herself.  “Is it okay if I just see how I feel?  I keep pretty early hours, so I might have to leave before the party really starts…” she says, apologetic.

“No problem,” Stef reassures.

“It’d be cool to see you there, but you don’t have to,” Jesus echoes.  He still looks pale.

“Yeah.  I’ll see how I feel.”

“Did you guys have those pizza things in the free sample level?” Frankie asks from the back.  “They were so good.”

Pearl casts a knowing glance Jesus’s way, but he’s looking out the window, and not at them at all.


	19. Chapter 19

By 5:00 PM, Jesus is watching for Pearl out the window.  

He’d normally have headed over to her place to spend the afternoon, but he got the feeling today that Pearl was gonna need time to herself, especially if Jesus hopes to see her at the party tonight.

Moms have told him that food will be ready by the same time as always, but it’s not like typical dinner at all.  There are just bowls and pots of things all around on counters with a stack of paper plates.  The TV is playing a countdown to 2015.  Jesus swallows.  He hates countdowns.  But Moms seem to want this party and everything that goes along with it.  They want to celebrate.  They want to be a normal family, whatever that is.

Jesus is kinda torn about it because they totally deserve to celebrate, and to do something that makes them feel good, but it makes him feel really bad.  Like he’s the biggest downer there is because no matter what, his trauma’s gonna come to the party too.  And nobody wants to party with trauma.  He wonders why Mom invited Pearl, then?  He wonders how much she knows about Pearl now?  That whatever she was like when she was a kid, she’s changed.  That she’s actually more like Jesus now, than like Stef.

Would Mom still have invited her if she knew that?

Well, it might not be a big deal, because Pearl might not even come.  But then he sees the light on her hat, approaching.  He doesn’t want to startle her by running out to meet her or anything, but he is excited she’s there.  Her being there means he’s not totally alone, as the only one with issues.

Frankie’s busting with energy, since Moms insisted she take a nap.  (She did, while claiming she never would, crashing under the table, where Jesus resurrected their fort.)  She’s telling everyone “Happy New Year!” and blowing a noise maker.

When Pearl knocks, Jesus makes sure he’s the one to answer the door.

“Hey,” he greets.  “You came.”

“Yup.  I’m here,” she nods.

There’s a ton of activity as Mom greets Pearl with a big hug.  Mama says a polite hello.  Then, Jesus points out his siblings.  When he gets to Brandon, Pearl offers a small smile, crossing her arms to avoid shaking hands, or to hide her tremor.

“The last time I saw you?  You were a lot smaller,” she says.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize we’d met,” Brandon apologizes.

“You were the cutest,” Stef gushes.  “All dressed up in your overalls and Winnie the Pooh shirt.”

“Okay.  Wow.  Thank you for that trip down embarrassing memory lane!” Brandon exclaims.  “Pearl.  It’s nice to meet you.  Again.”

“You, too,” she says.

Jesus finds Mariana, Callie and Jude and makes more intros.  To finish, he points out Frankie, who’s still making the rounds, telling everybody Happy New Year with her noise maker.  Now, she even found a hat to wear, too.  “And you know Frankie, already.”

“Happy New Year!  Pearl, can I tell Gracie Happy New Year?” Frankie asks, walking up to the dog, who’s glued to Pearl’s side.

“Sure,” she says.  “Just don’t pet her.”

Jesus scopes Pearl out.  Her tone’s colder.  Much more than it was this morning, talking to Frankie on the way to the store.

“I promise,” Frankie insists, solemnly.  And then to Gracie, “Happy New Year, Gracie!” she says, tooting the party favor in the dog’s face.

“Okay.  That’s not polite.  Not in people’s faces.  Not in dog’s faces.  Take a break, please,” Mom says, sending Frankie to sit down.

Jesus watches her walk away to sit at the table and feels Pearl lean in to talk to him.  “Why do you guys let her walk like that?” she asks, like she’s seen something way offensive.

“Like what?” Jesus asks, genuinely confused.

“Like  _that_.  With that limp and her arm in the air…”

Jesus sends her a dark look.  “She walks fine.”  Then he walks over to where Frankie’s sitting and stands by her.

There’s no way in hell Jesus is gonna out Frankie’s CP just to prove that her gait is legit.  Some friends of Moms think that they should be teaching her how to talk about it with people - as if it’s her job to educate the public about her disability.  When it’s not.  If she wants to, that’s cool.  But if she doesn’t she shouldn’t have to feel like a damn zoo exhibit just because people around her have never been exposed to a kid who walks like she does.

“Settle in!  Have some food!  There’s plenty for everybody!” Mom calls, too loud.  She stops by Jesus and tells him lowly, “That includes you, okay?  You’re welcome to go through and fill your own plate, or one of us is more than happy to help.”

“I actually think I got it,” he says, swallowing.  

Mom is a pro at acting like she won’t be super embarrassed if he needs help in front of people, but then she always is.  So, it’s not that Pearl will think it’s weird (even though she obviously thinks  _Frankie’s_  weird), it’s that Mom won’t like it.

“You need help with your plate, buddy?” Jesus asks Frankie.

“Yeah, do you need help with yours?  I’m good at scooping.  I can scoop all the food on yours.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he nods.

–

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Pearl’s managed to totally offend Jesus over what Pearl really thought was Frankie’s attempt at mocking someone else by being silly.  She feels like she has definitely overstayed her welcome already, but Jesus’s sisters (the teenagers) are around her, insisting she grab a plate and help herself.

Pearl does, falling into line directly behind little Frankie, whose walk is - dear God - totally consistent when she’s not being silly.  She is a horrible person.  Frankie has one plate and is sliding it down the countertop, scooping giant helpings of nachos and chicken wings onto the plate when Jesus lifts her up, and then telling Jesus just how to fill a second plate.

Not totally sure what’s going on, Pearl watches, until Jesus takes both plates.  He sets the one he filled in front of Frankie, and takes the one she filled for himself.

She gets caught up in conversation with Stef about when Pearl fished with some yarn off the end of the dock and fell in.  

“My heart was in my throat.  I couldn’t jump in fast enough,” Stef remembers.

“Is this before or after the pliers?” Lena asks.

“Wait.  What pliers?” Pearl asks.

“It was after,” Stef tells Lena.  “It so happens that about twenty four hours earlier you had found Dad’s pliers and pinched me.”

“What summer was this?” Pearl asks.

“1985.”

“So, I was  _two_.  You can’t hold me to that,” Pearl laughs.  Under the table, Gracie stays close, feeling Pearl’s nerves even as she laughs.  “So when I fell in the lake you reluctantly saved me, I take it?” Pearl wonders.

“I saved you wholeheartedly,” Stef assures her.

“It’s kinda what she does,” Brandon volunteers.  “She and my dad.  They’re both savers.  They can’t help it.”

“Well, thank you for saving my life,” Pearl says awkwardly.  “It figures that my mother was nowhere around…”

“Oh she was in the yard, reading.  Where she thought you were.  But you were quick.”

“Sounds like something I’d do,” Pearl comments ruefully.

She stays long enough for dessert and then politely excuses herself.  Jesus hasn’t said two words to her since she commented about Frankie, and now that she’s eaten, there’s really no reason to stay.  

“Listen, thank you guys so much.  I better get going, though.  I keep pretty early hours.  Which means I have to sleep early, too.”

“What time did you get up?” Mariana asks, horrified.

“A little before four,” Pearl confides.

“In the  _morning_?” Jude asks, alarmed.

Jesus keeps right on eating, so Pearl gets ready, and has plans to just call goodbye to all of them on her way out the door.  To her surprise, though, Jesus meets her at the door.

“Listen,” Pearl starts quietly, before he can say anything.  “I’m sorry for what I said about Frankie.  I didn’t realize that…it’s just…” she trails off, uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Jesus says softly, but it’s obvious, the comment touched a raw nerve.  “It is.  Anyway, I just wanted to say bye.  And if you’re over having me crash your place afternoons, I understand.”

“No, I’m not over it.  Why would I be over it?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“Because…today was kinda  _a lot_  of us…” he admits.

“Hey, I came by choice,” she doesn’t add that her primary reason for showing up tonight had been to be able to see, up close, how Stef and Lena were with Jesus.  Were they supportive?  Did he have what he needed?  But Pearl realized pretty quickly that she didn’t know what to look for in that sense, so her whole mission had kind of imploded.  “But…” she continues.  “If you’d rather not hang out with someone who insults cute little kids, I’ll understand that, too.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose, though, right?” he checks.

“No,” she says.  “I did not.”

“Okay.  Then I’ll still come over.  Look for me tomorrow.  Bye, Gracie,” he calls.

“Will you thank your moms for me again, for the invitation and the dinner?”

“Want me to walk you back?” he asks.

“No, I don’t.  Gracie and I will be fine,” Pearl insists.  “Thank you, though.”

“Take care,” he says, before shutting the door.

–

Once Pearl is gone, the energy in the cabin changes.  Jesus can’t put his finger on what it is, but he can feel it.  It’s like everybody was “on” and now they’re not.  They’re still all about having the party but more informal.  They pay attention less.

They miss how Frankie keeps offering to get Jesus new plates and scooping out giant portions of everything so he can try it all, like he really wants.

“Did you try these brown beans yet, Jesus?  What about these chips and this big Santa-face cookie?”

He takes it all.  He can’t say no.  He really does need it.  But the chicken wings and the nachos are super triggering.  Even just being around them.  It hadn’t stopped him from eating the massive portions Frankie gave him, but they sat in his gut, making him remember being There on Super Bowl Sunday for four years.  How, every year, He would have chicken wings and nachos and eat in front of Jesus, never letting him have anything.

It gets to the point where Jesus is going down the line himself, once Frankie tires herself out and crashes on the living room floor.  Jesus goes back for more and more and more nachos.  More and more and more chicken, to make sure none of it goes to waste.

He’s way past full, but he can’t stop.  Mom doesn’t notice and Mama takes it as a positive sign that Jesus is feeling so comfortable here that he can get his own food.

That’s the thing, though.

He is so  _not_  comfortable.

So far, he’s smuggled Doritos, that Santa cookie and some chicken wings in his backpack.  He’s been so torn about eating everything and saving everything, he can’t make up his mind about what to do.

Moms and everybody else are hanging out in the living room, and Jesus can’t tear himself away from the food.  Everytime he tries, the smell pulls him back.

He thinks about calling for backup but he doesn’t want to ruin the party.  His family deserves one night where his trauma’s not monopolizing everything.

Jesus tries to manage it.  Tries to stuff it back down and goes to sit on the couch with just one plate of wings and nachos.  He watches the crowd in Times Square cheering and celebrating.  The camera pans, showing all the faces, and Jesus watches, mindlessly eating.

Until the sight of one guy in particular makes him choke.

About 50.  Dark hair.  Dark eyes.  White.  Heavy.  Balding.  Salt and pepper beard and mustache.  Holding a plastic cup with beer in it and kissing on a lady.  

Him.

Jesus had been sure he would never have to see that face again, but then why is it right there in a crowd in New York?  Is He looking for more boys to take?

Inside his chest, Jesus’s heartbeat picks up.  He excuses himself calmly for some water, but ends up gorging himself on all the rest of the wings and nachos.  He can’t feel okay until there are none left.  He even has to eat the wings in his backpack.  After that, he shuts himself shut in the bathroom, trying to breathe.

“He’s dead.  He can’t hurt you.”  Jesus tries to say this out loud, but he just ends up on his knees in front of the toilet, throwing up.


	20. Chapter 20

“So, be honest,” Pearl says, as she sits on the couch, wide awake despite it being after 11:00 PM.  “Do you think I ruined everything with Jesus?”

Gracie woofs lightly, licking Pearl’s face, just because.

“Really?  Because I don’t feel that way at all.”

Gracie tilts her head.

“I know he said he’d still want to come over and that things were fine, but like, do we know that for sure?  Is he over there changing his mind about it right now?”

Barking twice, Gracie nuzzles against Pearl.

“I know you think that.  You’re sweet.  But you heard the way I insulted his little sister, right?” Pearl checks.

Gracie pants.  A smile.

“He’s  _not_  just gonna assume I had a rough day.  Or that I was protective because she blew that thing in your face.  He’s gonna think I’m awful and I screwed up, and Gracie, I’m out on a ledge here.  My only friendship in years is at risk of dissolving.  Can you talk me down, please?”

Gracie lies down, head in Pearl’s lap.

“You’re here.  I know.  You’re always here,” Pearl strokes her head lovingly.  It’s hours past her usual bedtime, but Pearl’s adrenaline is still flowing, and there’s no way she can just go to bed.  Since she didn’t do any knitting today, she tries to channel all the energy.

“Might as well do something positive, right?” she asks Gracie.  “ _Pawsitive_ ,” Pearl draws out the word and snorts out a laugh.  “God, I’m such a nerd.”

But her hands are steady and so she knits, the clock inching toward midnight.

–

Jesus is really screwed.  Once he’s done being horrendously sick, he can’t shake the words that he heard on Halloween a few years back.  He’d been twelve, and allowed to Trick-or-Treat alone for the first time.  He’d come home with time to spare, and ended up eating all his Halloween candy at once and getting sick, just like this.

The words He said are still clear in Jesus’s mind:  _Clean it up_.

That’s all it takes for Jesus to start searching Grandpa’s bathroom for whatever cleaning products he has in there.  First, he sprays a ton of air freshener.  Then, he gets to work cleaning the toilet, inside and out.  Then the sink, and the mirror.  Then the shower, with some bleachy tile cleaner.  He’s about to give it a second pass with everything, just to be sure it’s really clean, when there’s a knock at the door:

“Jesus?  It’s almost midnight.  The ball’s gonna drop.  Twenty minutes,” Jude informs him.

“Okay,” he says.  

“Um…  Do you need anything?  I could bring it to you, if you want…” Jude offers.

Jesus knows that Jude can probably smell the amount of cleaners he has used seeping out from under the crack in the bathroom door.  They all know Jesus can’t clean.  Because it gets out of control.  Fast.  And he ends up locking himself in a room and cleaning it four times, and way beyond what any regular person would.

Jude’s staying close on purpose.  Trying to get Jesus to open the door.  To get him out of there.

It gives Jesus a little hope.

“Yeah, actually.  Can you get me the landline?  I have to make a call.”

“Yeah.  Hold on.  I’ll be back in like ten seconds,” Jude promises.

Jesus counts.  Jude is back in eight seconds.  

“The only thing is…this won’t fit under the crack in the door.  So, I’m just gonna set it down out here.  I’m gonna stand by the opposite wall, in case you think about something else you need.  Does that work?”

“I’m gonna open the door,” Jesus warns.

The fresh hallway air is like gold.  Jesus doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating anymore.  He can see when the smell of all the cleaning hits Jude because he coughs.

Jesus is about to shut the door again, when Jude calls to him:

“Hey, maybe crack the window in there?  So you can breathe?”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods, closing the door in his face.  He does crack the window and then scrolls through caller ID until he sees Pearl’s number where she called them this morning.

–

“Well, that’s about all I can do,” Pearl tells Gracie, setting the knitting aside.  She’s finally feeling a little tired.

She’s nodding off, when her phone rings, making her jump a foot.  Who could be calling her at this hour?  Pearl glances at the screen:

_Frank Cooper_.

Jesus.

Pearl snatches up the phone.  “Jesus?  What’s up?” she asks, trying not to let her panic show.

“I’m sorry for calling so late.  I know you’ve probably been asleep for hours,” he says, his voice shaking and really deep.

“No, I haven’t gone to sleep yet, actually,” she says.  “Do you need something?”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course.  Yeah.”

“Okay.  Thank you.  I’m coming,” he says.  

She doesn’t have a chance to ask if he needs her to walk with him, but she’ll turn the outside light on and watch for him.  The last thing he needs is to get stuck outside when he’s already upset about something.

–

When Jesus comes out of the bathroom, he hands the phone to Jude.  “I’ve gotta go next door.”

He’s hurrying to get his jacket and his bag so he doesn’t notice Jude sticking with him.  Putting his own coat on.  Not until they’re outside.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Dude, it’s dark.  Just making sure you get there,” Jude admits.

“Oh.  Thanks,” Jesus manages.  

They get to Pearl’s and Jesus knocks hard on the door.  Jude stands by him until Pearl opens it, blinking in surprise to see two of them there.

“You good?” Jude asks.

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

“Okay.  Hey, guys,” Jude sends a quick wave to Pearl and Gracie before walking back across the yard.

–

Jesus looks awful.  There’s no other word for it.  He’s pale and shaky.  Pearl hopes he’s not sick.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks as he stands in her cabin with his coat still on, just looking at her.

“Not really,” he admits, finally moving to take off his coat and backpack.

“What do you need?” she wonders.

“I thought I saw him,” he says, looking genuinely afraid.

“Thought you saw who?”

“The guy who kidnapped me,” Jesus clarifies.  “On TV.  In Times Square.”

Pearl blinks.  Tries to find words.  Fails.

“It wasn’t him, obviously, ‘cause he’s dead, but like…I thought it was.  And I couldn’t stop eating.  I ate a ton of wings and nachos and was epically sick, and then started cleaning up everything which is something he used to make me do.”

Pearl tries to process everything Jesus is saying.  To ask whatever the next right question is.  To make him feel the safest.  Finally, she settles on one:

“Do you need to eat something?  I can get some crackers or something light, if you do.”  Pearl thinks this is probably the dumbest question ever, but she needs to do something to help.  And feeding people comes naturally.

“Probably, yeah.  It’s gonna make it worse if I can’t.”

“Well, you absolutely can eat, to be clear,” Pearl says.  She walks to the kitchen and easily finds soda crackers and a can of 7-Up.  Even though he’s not actually sick, Pearl’s pretty sure that their usual fare of fancy hot cocoa and cookies is going to be too rich for Jesus.

He raises his eyebrows at the food and she nods.  Hesitantly, Jesus reaches for the crackers.  Pearl can see his hands shaking.  Gracie’s at attention, totally focused on Pearl, which means she can focus on being there for Jesus.

“It’s fine if you eat.  Just maybe try to take it slow,” she encourages.

“Do I have to do anything?” he asks, shaking his head a little.

“Do anything…to eat?” she clarifies.

At his nod, Pearl’s stomach sinks.  “No.  You don’t have to do anything to eat.  You’ve eaten here before, remember?  I made you my fancy hot cocoa?  This is the same, no strings attached.”

“Oh,” he says and nibbles a cracker.  It takes him a while, but he eventually makes progress, eating a few crackers and sipping the 7-Up.

Pearl’s not sure if he’s going to say anything at all but then he asks.  “Since you’re not using it, can I swing and look at the lights?”

–

Stef walks into the bathroom and pauses.  It is spotless.  It wasn’t this clean when they arrived here.  That’s for sure.  The ball has now dropped.  It’s officially 2015, and all Stef wants to do is get some rest, but first she has to figure out what this means.

“Anybody know why our bathroom looks like it was cleaned for the Queen of England?” she wonders quietly, because Frankie’s sleeping.

“Yeah,” Jude answers, surprising her.  She walks over to where he’s been sitting on the couch, keeping mostly to himself.  

“Jude, my sweet.  What do you know about the state of the bathroom?”

“I found Jesus cleaning it.  He went to Pearl’s,” he admits.

“How long ago was this?” she asks.

“Half an hour ago, I guess?  I walked him over.”

“Well, what does that mean?  He was cleaning, and he went to Pearl’s?”

Jude shrugs.  “I don’t know.  I just asked what he needed, and that’s what he said.”

Stef stands up and walks through the cabin, until she finds Lena saying good night to the girls.

“Jesus is at Pearl’s.  He was cleaning our bathroom.”

“What?” Lena asks.  

“So you didn’t know about this?” Stef presses.

“No, I would have told you if I did,” Lena assures.

“Well, what do you think?” Stef insists.

“I think it’s late, and he needs to come home.  He doesn’t need to be spending the night over there.”

“Agreed,” Stef nods.  “I’ll call over there.”

–

Jesus is finally feeling just barely okay, swinging and looking at the purple lights, when Pearl’s phone rings and nearly gives him a heart attack.

“Hello?  Yeah, Stef, he’s here.  Sure.  I can walk him home.  You don’t have to come all the way over.  Yeah.  Bye.”

She hangs up and sends a regretful look his way.  “Your mom didn’t seem too thrilled about the possibility of you staying any later.”

Jesus takes a slow deep breath and lets it out.  He’s not okay, but what choice does he have?  He’s less comfortable spending the night here than he is sleeping under the table at Grandpa’s.  Pearl probably doesn’t want him as an overnight guest.  But he’s just barely got it together.  Doesn’t know what will happen once he goes back.

Still, he puts his coat on.  Grabs his bag, and walks out into the snow with Pearl and Gracie.  “Sorry you had to spend basically all day with me.”

“Don’t apologize,” Pearl reassures.  “I said I wanted to be here for you.  I meant that.”

There’s a pause that Jesus doesn’t let grow for too long.  He doesn’t have much time to tell Pearl what he needs to.  So, he does it now.

“I didn’t say this earlier, because I didn’t want to sound creepy or whatever.  But you’re kinda my role model.” Jesus admits, following her light in the dark.

“I’m no one’s role model,” she laughs, uncomfortable.  “For what?”

“For doing this.  For being here.  For not making it all about being normal.  For being real about how you struggle.  For not apologizing about what you need.  Those things are huge.  I wanna be more like you.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” Pearl says, stopping at Frank’s cabin door.  “Because I’d love to be a little more like you.  To put myself out there.  To be willing to love people and let them be close to me.  That’s not easy, and you do it.  And you keep doing it.  That’s no small thing.”

“Neither is what you’re doing,” he says.

“If you need me, you call, okay?  Or have somebody walk you over here.” Pearl tells him.

“Thank you so much for being here.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d survive,” she nods, sure.

“Yeah.  But I wouldn’t be the same,” he says as she knocks on the door and turns toward home.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Jesus sits at the kitchen table, looking at Moms.  He’s nervous.  Are they gonna yell at him?  Pull his hair?  Call him dumb again by saying he knows better than to leave without saying where he’s going?

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, before they can even say anything.  

(They had let him sit first.  And let him tell where he wanted them to be.  He picked the farthest chairs from himself.  They actually sat in them.)

“What do you think about having some Porch Time now?” Lena asks calmly.

Jesus lets out a breath.  “Yeah.  That would be good.”  

“What do you want to tell us about what happened tonight?” she asks evenly.

Jesus shrugs.  He doesn’t actually  _want_ to tell them anything.  Not about how he ate his weight in wings and nachos because he was so hyper about them being there.  About them being gone.  About seeing anyone else eat them when he wasn’t.  He can’t tell them that eating in general feels conditional right now.  Like, he has to shower to get breakfast.  To admit to the crap ton of food he’s got stashed in his backpack would mean dismantling his only unwavering coping strategy.

Moms just wait.  They don’t push.  They don’t get impatient.  So eventually, Jesus can say something:

“I thought I saw Him…on TV…in Times Square…” Jesus admits, studying the grain of the table.  “So I kinda freaked and felt like I had to clean.”  He turns to Mom.  “I know we talked about it.  I didn’t mean to.”

“We’re not mad,” Stef offers.

“We’re so sorry.  We didn’t know you got scared, love.” Lena insists.  “Are you okay now?”

Jesus breathes.  His stomach hurts.  Bad.  And he’s still got major confusion around a lot of food stuff.  Do they really expect him to be able to say he’s not?  Or that he is?  Either way, it’s hard.  Either way the words won’t come.

“I’m just really tired,” he admits.

“Well, let’s get you set up out here.  Did those blankets work okay last night?” Stef asks.

“Yeah, they were good.”

While they’re gone gathering the blankets from other parts of the cabin, Jesus gets the ones from the living room.  But waits for Moms to come back with theirs before he starts hanging anything.

They both hang around a little extra, and he doesn’t feel like he can really start doing anything until they clear out.

Lena looks at him in the eyes.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  We can call Dr. Hitchens first thing tomorrow - well, today - if you need her.”

“It’s New Year’s,” Stef interjects softly.  “The office is closed.”

“Well, you can talk to us or to Pearl whenever you need to, okay?  Just tell someone before you go, if you walk next door.” Lena says gently.

Jesus nods.

He doesn’t have the words to tell them that the whole reason he couldn’t tell them where he was Monday was that he’d been stuck.  And how that felt.  And that he hadn’t told them because he couldn’t, not because he was being irresponsible.  That that might still happen, and that it scares him to think about their reactions if it does.

They still stand there until Stef offers a forced, “Okay.  See you in the morning, bud.”

“Good night,” Lena offers.

“Yeah.  Night,” Jesus echoes.

He waits until he hears their bedroom door close and then walks through the cabin, checking all the doors and windows to be sure they’re locked.  Jesus hadn’t locked the front door behind himself.  That makes his heart beat fast.  Makes him have to lock it and then sit against it for a while.

When he can finally get back to the table to fix all the blankets the way he needs them, Jesus still feels exhausted.  Still feels disgusting.  Remembers how, That Halloween, after he cleaned up, he’d come back to the room to find Him in the bed Jesus slept in.  Like it was His.  Like Jesus was His.  Just a thing to use.

It makes him feel gross.  On alert.  Like he has to watch just in case.  Also, his stomach hurts super bad.  And it feels kinda like he’s starving. He searches the bag for the flashlight Stef gave him.  Flips it on, and checks on all his food to be sure it’s still there.

He thinks about eating it.  Or just eating some of it.  But he knows if he starts, he won’t be able to stop.  Not when things are this messed up.  It’s fine, though.  He’s gone to bed hungry a ton of times before.  It was like Pearl said:  he’ll survive.

He zips the bag.  Lies down, and puts a protective arm around it.  

Nobody can take his food.

Or him.

He reaches in the backpack again.  Feels for the flashlight on top of all the food.  Takes it out, and snakes his hand out from under the blankets.  The hand closest to the big window.  He flashes the light on, once.  Then off.

Just in case Pearl is still awake.

–

Pearl crashes after Jesus leaves and sleeps hard.  She’s a little freaked out when she wakes up and it’s almost 8:30.  It feels like she has slept the day away.  Gracie’s ready to go out and Pearl hurries to throw on her coat and hat.

She casts a glance toward Frank’s but it doesn’t look like anyone’s up and moving there, either.  No lights on.

Jesus isn’t on the back step.

“Well, they had a late night, too,” Pearl says out loud to Gracie.  “And Jesus had a rough one.  They’ll be up later.”

Gracie doesn’t respond.  She’s taking care of business.

Back inside, Pearl makes a quick breakfast and tries to work in some self-care, too.  But she’s distracted.

Had she heard Jesus right last night?  Had he really said  _kidnapped_?

Pearl remembers some bigger kidnapping cases from when she was younger, but none of those kids came home alive.  She wonders when Jesus was kidnapped.  Hears his voice in her head: “Four years, one month there.  Three years, two months back.”  So seven years and three months ago.  That would put his disappearance around September of 2007.

When Pearl was busy trying to make it clear to her mother that she could live on her own.  She’d been at service dog school.  She’d just met Gracie, a gangly young thing, eager to work.

Conflicting feelings war inside of Pearl.  How could something so good be happening for her while something so awful was happening to him?  He must’ve been young.  Just nine?  Could that be right?

“God, how did he live?”  she asks Gracie.  But Gracie’s distracted, hungrily eating her breakfast.

–

When Jesus wakes up again, he kind of just wants to stay under the table forever.  He feels so gross, but he doesn’t want to shower.  Doesn’t care if that means he can’t eat breakfast, because whatever.  He doesn’t need food.

He stays under the table until Mom gets up.  She tries to be quiet.  But he hears her walk around.  Start the coffee.  Sit in the living room with her book.

Jesus feels invisible.  It’s kind of a good feeling and kind of a panicky feeling.  Because he’s always been a little too good at being invisible.  He just can’t face anybody yet.

“Backup,” Frankie calls, sounding crabby.

Jesus doesn’t move.  Someone else can get her.  

“I said backup!” Frankie calls, close to tears.

“Okay, love, I hear you.”  Mom’s finally moving to get her.  Good.  At least it won’t be on him if Frankie falls.

“No, Mom!  This isn’t your job!  Where’s Jesus?” she asks Mom, pouting.

“I think he’s still sleeping.  So let’s be very quiet, okay?”

“No, I wanna see him,” Frankie complains.  “And I need breakfast right now!  I’m so starving!”

“Okay. What would you like?” Mom asks.  “Eggs?”

“Birds live inside of eggs.  Where do the birds in the shell go of the eggs we eat?”

“That’s a very good question,” Mom hedges.

Jesus listens.  Knows she doesn’t want to give Frankie TMI again, like she did about Grandpa hunting.  (The deer head is still there.  Outside the blankets.)

“Hey, why is our fort still here?” Frankie asks, still a little crabby.  Before Mom can say anything, Frankie’s crawling inside.

“Hey!  Jesus what are you doing in here?  It’s no fair you having a campout without me.”

Jesus tries to talk but he can’t.

“Francesca Rose.  Leave Jesus alone.  Let him sleep,” Mom reprimands.

He keeps his face turned away on purpose, so Frankie can’t see he’s actually awake.  Jesus closes his eyes again.

“But it’s no fair he got to sleep here and I didn’t!  It’s our fort for the littlest and biggest!”

“Listen.  Why don’t you tell me what you want with your eggs?” Mom tries to distract her, but the fort is too big a pull for her, and she’s back in no time.

“Jesus,” she whispers, poking him in the face.  “Why did you sleep here without me?  That’s not really a great thing to do.”

He stays still and quiet until Mom comes to get Frankie a second time.  Hears her ask: “Is he awake?”

Hears Frankie answer, “No.”

Maybe, Jesus can just hang out under here until Sunday when they have to go.  His mind screeches to a halt.  In three days, he’s gonna have to make this awful trip again, but in reverse.  He covers his head with his yellow blanket.  Blinks tears back.  Tries to push them back down.  Tries to go blank, but he can’t.

He also can’t hang out under the kitchen table and cry all day either, but he doesn’t have another choice.  Then, like magic, there are the bright colors of Cookie Land, and plenty of fake food that won’t make him puke his guts out.  Jesus stays there a while.  It feels safe.  Not like here.  He doesn’t have to do anything to eat the cookies.

It’s past 10 AM when Mama calls “knock knock.”  By now, everyone else is awake, and trying to be quiet but his family has never been great at keeping the volume down.  With eight people, it’s hard.  Breakfast was eaten a while ago.  But that’s fine.  Jesus doesn’t need it.  He ate more than enough last night.  He shouldn’t get to have anything for the whole rest of the time he’s here to make up for it.

It’s when he tries to call out a response and can’t, that Jesus realizes what this is: he’s never been stuck like this right away in the morning before.  Well, not since he first got home.  This week, he’s gotten majorly stuck twice.  The first time, Moms totally freaked.  Will they again?

What’s Jesus gonna do if he can’t actually answer and it just keeps going from there?  Just keeps getting worse?

“Jesus?  You awake, bud?  You should come out and have some breakfast.”

But Jesus can’t, because he can’t answer, and he can’t move, so he can’t shower.  All things that need to happen in order to get to have breakfast.  He wishes Gracie was here to pull him out from under here.  To take him to Pearl.  She would know what to do.  How to help.

“Jesus?” Mama tries again.

He takes a breath, but he can’t answer.

Outside the blankets, he can hear Mama whispering to Mom, and Mom telling the rest of the kids to get ready to go.  She’s taking them sledding.  Jesus just listens while they all get ready.  It takes a while, but they get there.  He wishes he could go, too, but he’d probably get stuck outside in the snow again and no one in his family would know how to help.  They’d just expect that he could come inside when they did.

He tries to go back to Cookie Land, because his stomach keeps growling, but he hears Mama’s voice instead.  She’s close.  Jesus turns to see her shadow just outside the blankets.

“I’m here, okay?  When everyone leaves and we have some privacy, we’ll have Porch Time and talk,” she whispers.  “I’m not leaving you.  You’re not alone.  I know something’s not right for you right now, and I’m going to help you.  You’re not in trouble, okay?  I promise.”


	22. Chapter 22

Lena sits as close as she dares to Jesus, careful not to disturb the blanket.  She and Stef have made sure to look over his boundaries daily, to be sure they are fresh in both of their minds before the day starts.  She knows if she moves the blanket before Jesus has consented, it will feel like a violation, and she needs him feeling safe right now, not the opposite.

When Stef leaves with Frankie, Jude, Mariana, Callie and Brandon, Lena gets to work, trying to elicit a response from her son.

“You’re safe, Jesus,” she says.  “I know you thought you saw Him last night, okay?  And I understand that you probably felt incredibly afraid.  But He is not here.  I am.  Okay?  It’s just me and you right now.  So you can talk to me.”

She waits.

Nothing.

“Jesus?  Can you hear me?” she asks.  “I need you to answer me.  I need to hear your voice to know that you’re safe under there.”

Lena gives him five full seconds.  They are some of the longest in recent memory.  She hates to have to do what she’ll have to do next, but she is his mother.  She has to be sure he’s okay.

“Jesus. I need you to listen to me.  I respect your boundaries.  That’s why I haven’t moved this blanket while I’ve talked to you.  But since I haven’t heard from you, I need to move the blanket now to check on you and make sure you’re safe.  I need to see you.  Do you understand?  I’m not going to touch you, but I need to see you.”

She waits another five seconds, for this to sink in.

Then: “I’m going to pull this blanket back,” she nudges it, so it billows.  So Jesus will know where she’s coming from, and won’t be too surprised.  She pulls the blanket back.

He is a lump under more blankets.  Even his face is covered.  All that’s visible is his hair.  But based on his breathing, Lena’s sure he is awake.

“I need you to move your blanket off your face, Jesus,” she says calmly.  “I need to see you.”

Five seconds.  He doesn’t move.

“I’m going to take the blanket off your face, so I can see you,” she says.

She waits again.  Then pulls it back.

His eyes are open.  He blinks at her slowly, life coming back into them.

“I need you to come out from under the table now.  You need to eat breakfast,” she says, trying to keep her voice calm and not let it shake with emotion.

She watches him take a breath.  Stop just short of words.

“What is it, Jesus?  I’m listening.”

“I’m stuck.”

His voice is a soft monotone.  His eyes searching hers for answers.  For help.  For understanding.

For a moment, Lena feels the same.  For a moment, she has no idea how to proceed.  Jesus is big for sixteen, far bigger than she herself is.  And she wouldn’t feel good trying to handle him physically, especially after seeing the disastrous effect that had Monday night.  It’s a huge part of why she’s sent everyone else out.  She knows she needs to lower the stress for him.  She doesn’t want a repeat of that night.  Knows Jesus doesn’t either.

She has to reach back years in her mental files to find a context for this.  To remember that yes, she does know how to help him through this.  It had taken patience, clarity, and being deliberate about every action she was going to take.  It meant accepting and responding to his nonverbal cues as legitimate communication.

“I’m going to put my hand out.  When you’re ready, I want you to take it, and I’ll help you come out.”

She watches his eyes.  How intently he tracks her hand.  How he stays focused on it for agonizing minutes until, finally, he shifts under the blankets and withdraws a hand.  Takes hers.

Slowly, she guides him out, stopping him short of sitting on the floor out here.  “Stand up, love.  You’re doing great.”

He does.  

She makes him what she can with one hand - the other still holding his.  Toaster waffles.  With butter and syrup.  A glass of orange juice.  (Lena’s convinced he needs the sugar.)  She leads him to the living room.  To the chair he took previously, before Jesus made his boundary list. She sits on the same footstool.  Offers him the plate, but he won’t take it.  Sets the glass on the table beside his chair.

“Are you still stuck, bud?” she wonders.

He swallows.  Nods.

“Okay.  I understand.  And I’m not mad.  Can I help you?” she asks.

Jesus shrugs.

“Honey, if you mean that, I need to hear a yes.  I need to know you’re not just telling me what I want to hear.  I respect you, and I respect your boundaries.”

“Yes,” he croaks.  “It’s okay if you help me.”

First, she offers him the glass of juice, which he tries to take but it shakes in his hands.  She’s there to steady it.

He takes a tiny sip.

She offers it again and again until she guesses he’s gotten at least a good-sized swallow into him.  Then, Lena goes to work offering him bites of waffles.  These, he does eat.

When he finally finishes them and the orange juice, he seems better.  More present.

“How are you now, Jesus?” Lena checks.

“Better.  Thanks.  Thank you for helping me…and not freaking out…”

“I always want to help you, sweetie.  Was that enough to eat, or do you need more?”

“Not sure,” he says.

“Those waffles are small.  Let’s get you another and some more orange juice.” Lena decides.

“Okay,” he nods.

This time, he’s able to eat on his own, so Lena just sits back and tries not to watch him too closely.

When he’s done, she asks if he needs to talk.  “With the party last night, there were a lot of changes in routine,” she offers.  “I remember that those can make you nervous, and I want you to know you’re not in trouble.  Mom and I understand the cleaning was a stress-response.  And we understand why you needed to go to Pearl’s.”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.  “It helped that you didn’t yell.”

“That makes sense,” Lena nods.  “Do you need anything else?  Do you need anything to be different?” she checks.

“The same…” he hedges.

“I’m sorry?” she asks.

“I don’t need things to be different, I need them to be the same,” he clarifies.

“Ah,” Lena smiles.  “Well, why don’t we see if there’s any Cupcake Wars on right now, and in a couple hours, Mom and the kids will be back and we’ll have lunch.  Maybe some hot chocolate for you and the sledders?”

Jesus moves to the couch and pats the empty space next to him. Lays his head on her shoulder as she flips on the TV and quickly turns to the Food Network.  

Lena’s afraid to move, but she projects calm anyway.  Doesn’t want to scare him off.

“You know Pearl makes really good hot chocolate?”

“Does she?” Lena asks.

“Yeah.  On the stove.  With real milk and vanilla and fancy chocolate.”

“I did not know that.  Which is your favorite hot chocolate?  Ours from Christmas Eve with the candy canes, or Pearl’s?”

A soft laugh escapes:  “I don’t have a favorite, Mama.  It’s hot chocolate.  I even like the powdered stuff.  But if it won’t hurt your feelings, I did kinda like Pearl’s on the stove most.  But I liked the candy canes being in ours.”

“Good to know,” Lena responds.

They pass the time watching Cupcake Wars and imagining being a mother-son team there and what cupcakes they might bake together.  Over time, Lena’s recognized that talking about food (once he’s had food himself) is comforting for Jesus.  And he can talk about it exhaustively.

“I think chocolate’s good,” Jesus offers.  “For a cupcake flavor.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Lena teases gently.  “Okay.  So chocolate cupcakes.  Imagine we had to make the chocolatiest cupcakes ever.  Ones that stand out from all the rest.  What would you put in them?”

“Vanilla.  Maybe some crushed up candy canes like from the hot chocolate.  And some marshmallows. We could call it a hot chocolate cupcake.  You’d have to do decorations because I’m bad at those,” he offers.

“That sounds like a great recipe,” Lena encourages.  “You’re giving me a lot of baking ideas for when we go home.  Do you have ideas for decorations?”

“Mmm…  No…  I don’t care how it looks.  I’d eat ugly cupcakes.”

Lena laughs.  “I agree.  A cupcake’s a cupcake, right?”

Jesus nods.

They’re quiet for a while, watching the show and then Lena catches him looking over the back of the couch at the table, with the blankets still in place.

“What about the blankets?” he asks.

“What about them?” she wonders.

“Should they be picked up?  I mean…so we can eat lunch and have hot chocolate when they get back?”

“I can fold them for you, if you’re ready,” she offers.

“Not yet,” he says, surprising her.  “I like sitting like this and thinking of recipes.  Nobody else likes to do that with me.”

“Well, I’d be happy to brainstorm recipe ideas with you.  And maybe someday, when you’re more comfortable in the kitchen, we can bake Jesus’s famous hot chocolate cupcakes.

“Oh.  Don’t wait for me.  Seriously.  Cupcake Wars will be canceled by the time I feel okay in the kitchen…but I can bake cookies, so maybe cupcakes would be okay…” he ventures.

“Maybe…and trust me.  I’d never bake our cupcakes without you.”

“‘Cause we’re a team?” he checks.

“Absolutely.  We’re a team.  And you’re an important part of that.  I respect you, you know that?” Lena asks, because it’s important that she tells him now that he’s more present.

“Thank you.  I respect you, too,” he says softly.  His head is back on her shoulder.

“You’re safe here, just like at home.  Do you feel safe here?” Lena asks, curious.

“Not really.  That deer head…He had one, too.  So I don’t really like it.  It makes me feel lonely.”

Lena looks at the buck on the wall.  Hates that there are so many things that make Jesus nervous.  “I’m sorry.  Is there anything we can do with him that will make you feel safer?  Should we cover him up?”

“You can’t reach that,” Jesus reprimands lightly.

“No, but I could climb on a chair or something.  Would anything help?”

“Other than, like, taking it down, which wouldn’t make me feel any better ‘cause then it would be kinda closer to me and that’s not good.  Plus, Grandpa wouldn’t like it.  If we could just make it look different, though,” Jesus muses.

“Different like…” Lena thinks.  “Give it a name?  A hat?  What?”

Jesus shrugs.  “Not like funny, though.  I mean if we can make it not look like a deer head.  That would be ideal.”

“Well, let me think about it, and talk to Mom.  Is that okay?”

He nods.  “Yes.  I want her to know.  I want something different for that.”

“We’ll see what we can do.  If nothing else, I don’t think covering it up will hurt anything.  Then you and Frankie won’t have to see it.”

“That would be cool,” Jesus nods.  “I miss us talking like this.  You know we haven’t since like  _last year_ ,” he jokes, but keeps a straight face, making Lena laugh.

“You don’t say,” she smiles.

“Doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, but then again.”

“But then again…” she echoes, her voice full of love and longing.  Because it’s never too far from her mind.  Those missing years with her son.  How once upon a time, the idea of sitting and talking to him like this was unthinkable.  “Can I give your head a kiss?”

“Yes,” he nods.  “It needs one,” he murmurs.

Lena presses her lips into his hair.  Tries to communicate every bit of her love for him in just this simple act.

It doesn’t come close.  But it’s a start.


	23. Chapter 23

Pearl mulls over the idea of looking Jesus up.  She could Google him.  Or ask her mom, Char or Pav if they had ever heard the name Jesus Foster before, and see what they said.  It takes all of her self control not to.

It’s because of the conversation she’s already had with Jesus:  because he told her how much he likes being in charge of who he tells, and how much he says.  If she looked him up now, and found out more information than he disclosed to her, he would probably feel really betrayed.  

She knows if the news had somehow picked up what happened to her and everyone knew about it everywhere she went, it would be awful.  It’s bad enough living in a small town and having everyone here know about what happened to her.  It’s a small miracle that Stef and her family don’t know.  Pearl isn’t willing to compromise Jesus’s privacy to satisfy her own curiosity.  If Jesus wants to tell her, he will.  (She’s not gonna mention his name to her mom or her friends either, because they might connect the dots and figure out the kid she’s been talking to is Jesus.)

“Friends don’t Google friends,” Pearl tells Gracie.  “Right?”

Gracie nuzzles Pearl’s hand.

Pearl makes a decision.  Finds a bright orange Frisbee.  Holds it out to Gracie.  “Wanna get out of here?  Go play?” she asks.

Gracie’s tongue lolls out.  She smiles.

They walk for a while.  The whole point is to get away from her cabin and the WiFi and the temptation to poke into the life of the kid who just called her his role model.  So Pearl walks until she arrives at a local spot where she and Gracie love to play because it’s usually so deserted.  

Pearl lets Gracie off-leash and tosses the Frisbee.  “Go get it, girl!” Pearl calls, and Gracie bounds after it.  She leaps and catches it while it’s still in the air.  In so many ways, Gracie’s still like a puppy.  

–

Jesus loves this.  If he could just spend his whole day on the couch with Mama talking about food, he’s pretty sure that would solve everything that’s wrong.  He keeps thinking about hot chocolate, and how much he wants to make it, but he knows it would be pushing it.  He needs to take it slow today and not borrow trouble.

Even though it’s only been a little bit since he had waffles, Mama starts making lunch, so it’ll be ready at noon.  Soup and sandwiches.  It smells good.  He gathers his bag and other stuff from under the table, so she can take care of the blankets.

This time, he can eat, no problem.  But he can’t put anything in his bag because it’s just Mama right now, and she’s paying attention.

After lunch, it’s back to the couch, where they put The Food Network on mute and just talk.  Mama lets him lead the conversation and for a while he obsesses about food some more, but eventually, he does feel safe enough to bring up another huge thing that’s been on his mind.

“You remember Monday night?” he asks carefully.

“I do,” Mama responds softly.

“You and Mom were really mad,” Jesus observes.  “That I didn’t tell you where I was going.”

“I remember.”

“But I couldn’t,” he tries to explain.

“You couldn’t?” Mama asks.

“It was like today.  This morning?  I got stuck out there and I couldn’t move.  Once Mom and Brandon and Callie left, and I was by myself I just froze.  I didn’t have anything that made me safe.  I was just out there, alone.  I thought maybe if I just waited, they’d come back, but then it was a long time, and I got cold, and that made everything worse.”

Mama just listens.

“So it’s not like I was trying to make you guys upset, I actually couldn’t move to come back and tell you.  Gracie came and got me and brought me to Pearl’s.  It’s the only reason I got there.”

Mama thinks for a bit and then starts talking: “So, when Mom and I keep telling you to make sure you tell us when you go over there, that probably doesn’t feel very fair.”

Jesus shakes his head.

“Maybe instead you need something to be different?  So that that doesn’t happen again?” Mama tries.

“Right,” Jesus nods.

“How do you get home each night?” Mama wonders.

“Pearl walks me back and knocks on the door to be sure you guys can hear,” Jesus volunteers.

“Okay, so when you want to walk over to Pearl’s and you tell one of us in the family, we’ll make sure that person walks you over, too.  So you get there safely.  Does that sound workable?”

Jesus nods.  “Jude did it last night,” he offers.  “It really helped.”

“Thank you for telling me that.”

“You’re welcome.  Can we make hot chocolate together?  Or does it have to just be you?” Jesus asks.

“How safe do you feel in the kitchen?” she asks.

Jesus shrugs.

“So, I think, this time, it would be best if I made it.  But you’re welcome to give me suggestions.”

“Candy canes?” he offers.

“Well, let’s see what Grandpa has on hand…” Mama says, getting up to look around.  Jesus gets up, too, but just so he can turn and see what she’s up to.

–

Pearl keeps throwing the Frisbee.  Now, though, she’s squinting at the sledders in the distance on the hill.  One in particular, looks familiar.  Bright pink jacket.  Pink fleece hat.  And her walk…so unique…Pearl would know it anywhere.

Slowly, Pearl makes her way over to the group, feeling drawn to them.  (If Frankie’s there, Jesus is there.  And she can’t shake the desire to check in.)  She and Gracie climb the hill off to the side, so Brandon and Mariana don’t take her out, careening down the hill together.  Next come Callie and Jude, whooping and cheering.

By the time she gets to the top, Pearl realizes that she didn’t just miscount.  There are only six people here.  Jesus and Lena are missing.  She tries to hide her disappointment.  Frankie notices them first.

“Gracie!  Hi!”  she says from the sled.  “Mom, let me out, okay?”

Stef laughs and lifts her out, holding onto her as she trudges through the snow.

“These boots are way too heavy,” Frankie says.  “But hey, Pearl?  Is Gracie on a break right now?”

“She is, actually.  We just came here to play.”

“So, I can pet her?” Frankie asks, incredulous.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Be gentle,” Stef reminds, as Frankie embraces Gracie hard.

“Gracie, I missed you so much, and I wanted to pet you for my whole life,” Frankie exclaims dramatically.

Gracie accepts the hug, and licks Frankie, making her giggle.

“Oh!  She loves me, too!” she squeals.

“Where’s Jesus?” Pearl asks, counting again.  Definitely only four teenagers on the hill.

“Jesus isn’t here,” Frankie interjects stopping the love-fest with Gracie to inform Pearl.  “He’s at the cabin with Mama.  He–”

“He’s having a bit of a tough morning,” Stef interjects.  “Sometimes, it’s better for him to have less going on during those times.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Pearl nods.  She waits until Frankie’s thoroughly distracted, trying to throw the Frisbee for Gracie and says, “You’re leaving Sunday?  That’s coming up.”

“A bit too quickly for my liking,” Stef admits.  “It feels like we just got here.”

“Hey, Pearl,” Brandon greets, coming to the top of the hill.  Mariana, Jude and Callie all follow him in sending her a greeting before sledding down the hill again.

“Hey, can Gracie go sledding with me?” Frankie wonders.

“No, love.  Gracie has to stay with Pearl,” Stef encourages.

“But she’s on a break!”

“Honey, dogs can’t sled,” Stef explains.

“I’ll take you, Frankie,” Jude offers, back at the bottom of the hill.

“Okay!”

Pearl listens to Stef’s instructions that Jude sit behind her and hold onto her, and not go too fast.

“I’m not really in control of the sled, Mom…” Jude protests.

“Oh, you are more than you think.”

Waiting until all the kids are careening down the hill, Stef offers softly: “If it’s something you’re comfortable with…I feel like it would mean a lot to Jesus…and to us…if he could stay in touch with you after we leave…”  She’s looking at the sledders, tracking all five of the kids down the hill.  But she’s waiting for Pearl’s response.

“Yeah.  It would mean a lot to me, as well.  Assuming it’s okay with you and Lena,” Pearl amends.

“Very much so…  Jude Jacob!  Don’t you dare start a snowball fight!  We’re here to sled!”

“Sorry!” he calls back, unable to resist pelting Brandon with a handful of snow.

“Listen, do you think it’d be too much if I stopped by Frank’s myself on the way home?  I could see how Jesus is doing?  Ask if he wants to hang out next door for a while?”

“See what he’s comfortable with.  And what Lena says.  If they’re okay with it, I’m fine with it.  He might just need a really low-key day.  I’d just want to make sure he eats before he goes over.”

“Right.”

–

Jesus is trying to convince Mama that he’d be an even better co-chef if he can actually touch the food.  It’s his trauma talking, and they both know it.  It’s getting hard to just sit by and watch.  Making him anxious.

A knock sounds at the door.

“Jesus, can you answer that, please?” Mama calls.

It makes him breathe a sigh of relief.  That she trusts him to do something while she’s busy.  He loves to be in charge of knowing who’s coming and going, but he checks the window first.

Pearl and Gracie!

“Hey.  What’s up, guys?” Jesus asks, almost reaching out to hug Pearl but stopping himself.  (He can’t do that unless he asks, and unless she says yes.  Jesus hates sneak-attack hugs - the kind that are all about the giver and show no regard for the getter.)

“We ran into Stef and the rest sledding.  I thought you might be with them, but they said you stayed back.”  She and Gracie wipe their feet and Jesus leads them into the kitchen.

“Mama’s making hot chocolate.”

“Oh gosh.  You know that’s my weakness.  Hey, Lena,” she calls.

“Hey guys.  Pearl, I hear you make superior hot chocolate… _on the stove_ …” Lena smiles.

“Jesus is kind,” Pearl insists.

“In my experience, he’s honest…” Lena says.

“That’s also true,” Pearl admits.

“Gracie, can you believe these guys?” Jesus asks.

“I wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay.”

“Doing better, yeah.  Thanks,” he nods.

“So…  Do you want to come back next door with Gracie and me?”

“Oh, totally.  Mama, is that cool?” Jesus asks.

“It’s cool with me, if it’s cool with you, my love.”

“Okay, let me get my stuff.”

In seconds, he’s ready, jacket and backpack on.  They start walking.  

“It’s cool you stopped by,” Jesus offers.

“Well, I was so bummed when I saw your family, and you weren’t there.  Like, they weren’t complete without you.  It looked wrong with only five there.”

There’s something about her tone that makes him stop.  “You’re thinking about it, right?  About what I said last night?  About being kidnapped.”

“I am…” she admits, but at least she looks embarrassed.  “It’s hard not to think about it now that I know.  And I am curious.  But I remember what you said about not wanting people to know more than you tell them yourself, and I respect you.”

She opens her door and lets him inside.  This is the least trauma he’s ever felt being over here.  He’s been so freaked out before, it’s never occurred to him that Pearl doesn’t lock her door.

Jesus fights the urge to do it for her.  

But he’s also sure she has a reason.  And him doing that for her might have just as disastrous an effect as somebody insisting he couldn’t check his house at night, to be sure all the doors and windows were locked.

He has to respect her, like she’s respecting him.


	24. Chapter 24

Jesus sits down on Pearl’s couch, and watches as she goes to work, putting a pot on the stove.

“Hot chocolate again?  What’d I do to get so lucky?” he asks.

“Well, it didn’t look like you got to have any back there, and apparently mine  _is_  superior.” Pearl jokes.

“It is,” he nods.  

She sets out some cheese and crackers, before she goes back out to tend to the milk on the stove.  While she’s busy, Jesus snags three crackers with cheese and puts them in his bag.

“You’re welcome to take any food home with you that you want…” Pearl calls.  “But I do kinda wish you’d ask…”

“Sorry,” he says, reaching back in the bag for the crackers and setting them on the plate.  When she comes out, he asks plainly: “Can I have these three?”

“You can,” she nods, setting a mug of hot chocolate in front of him.  Jesus doesn’t talk again until his is all the way gone.  It’s too good to interrupt with words.

“Do you always not lock your doors?” he asks.

“Pretty much.”

“How come?” he asks.  “Aren’t you freaked out about…I don’t know…people?”

“I think…” she says thoughtfully.  “The worst thing already happened to me, so if people want to come and mess with me, they can try it.”

There’s a glint of something hard in Pearl’s eyes.  Jesus never wants to mess with her.  “Is it gonna be weird, now that you know about me?  Are you gonna be wondering a bunch of stuff?”

“I’m gonna be respecting you.  Your story’s yours.  If you want to tell me, you can.  If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too.”

They’re quiet for a while.  Then, Jesus admits, “I talked to Lena about some stuff today.  But there’s other stuff she doesn’t know about.  Stuff I’m trying to deal with, but I can’t, like,  _say_.”

Pearl looks pointedly at his backpack, and Jesus puts an arm around it protectively.  “Yeah,” he confirms.

“Do you think I’d make you feel bad about it?” Pearl asks softly.

“You made me  _ask_ ,” he says, looking away from her.

“First of all, we’re friends.  Friends don’t make friends do things.  We ask each other.  Because I respect you, and you respect me.  I said, I  _wish_ you  _would_  ask.  Because you’re a guest and it’s a difficult thing for me to go to the grocery store.  So for you to just take what’s so hard for me to get?  It kinda hurts my feelings,” she admits.

“Oh.  I didn’t think about it that way…  It’s hard for me to be a guest…” he confesses.

“How so?” She’s gentle.  Gracie’s lying by her feet, listening, too.

“Like…living in somebody else’s house for that long…and never being able to forget that everything there was His…even me.  It’s kinda like, now, whenever I’m somewhere that’s not home, and even sometimes when I  _am_  home, I feel like I have to do things on the down-low in order to get what I need.  I don’t know if that makes sense or not…” he hedges.

“When you put it that way, it makes total sense,” she nods.  “But I do appreciate you asking me.  It’s different here.  Like your house,” Pearl encourages.

“Because I’m safe?” Jesus questions.

“You are safe.  And if you ever don’t feel safe here, you can always go back.  I’d never keep you here if you didn’t want to be.”

“Hmm,” Jesus thinks.  “You’re probably the best person I know at being obvious.”

“Is that a good thing?” Pearl wonders, a small smile on her face.

“Yeah.  Like I said once, I think…  What people think is clear, for me, isn’t.  I need it to be super clear.  And you’re good at that.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you like living here?” Jesus wonders.

“Yes, most of the time, I do.” Pearl nods.

“Except when?”

“Except…April…and in winter if the heater doesn’t work.”

Jesus grimaces.  “Oh no.  I was gonna say I’d wanna live up here in a cabin sometime like you, but maybe not if the heat won’t work.  Cold’s not my favorite.”

“Right.  Well, my mom did get me this cute little space heater for Christmas.  So, if, for some reason the heat stops working while you’re here, we can still stay warm.

He smiles.  Then hesitates.  “What’s bad in April?”

“Memories…” she admits, looking away.

“Mine are bad in September.  And October.  And Thanksgiving.  Christmas is pretty hard, too.  But April’s okay.  I could be here for you.  I mean, if we can stay in touch after we leave.”

“You don’t have to.  What kind of role model would that make me, falling apart at the seams?”

“An honest one.  And besides, I wouldn’t want you to feel alone.  Not with this.  Like, we wouldn’t have to talk about it or anything, but if you needed me, we could Skype or call or text or something.”

“If I can be there for you next September through Christmas, you’ve got a deal.”

“Okay,” he smiles.  Pauses.  “It’s hard for me to ask, sometimes.  Like about food…”

“Because of being a guest?” Pearl checks.

Jesus nods.  “And because He used to make me ask permission to do everything, and then not let me do it, even when I really had to.”

“Let me ask you something…if you’re okay with it…” Pearl waits.

“Yeah.”

“Did He respect you?”  

“What?” Jesus asks.  The question makes his brain grind to a screeching halt.  No one has ever asked him this before.  “Can you be any more specific?” he asks, trying out Mama’s question.

“Did He treat you with kindness?  Was He there for you when you were in trouble?  Did He help you get what you needed in order to feel safe?”

Jesus shakes his head.  “No, He was the opposite.  He was mean.  The reason I got in trouble.  The reason I never felt safe.”

“When people respect each other, asking if you can use something is a part of that respect.  It’s saying, I care about you, so let me run this by you first, before I act.”

“Consent,” Jesus breathes, a lightbulb moment.  “Yeah, I know all about that.  I didn’t realize it was like the same thing.”

“I suppose it is,” Pearl nods.

“It clicks better that way in my head,” Jesus offers.  “Because we talk about it a lot in my family and in therapy.”

“Do you think that’s helpful?” Pearl asks.

“Therapy?  Yeah, it is.  For me, anyway.”

“I’ve always been kinda scared to go…” Pearl admits.

Jesus thinks about this.  How weird it is that somebody like Pearl can live alone in a cabin in the woods and not lock her door but be scared to go to therapy.  But he guesses he was scared, too, at first.

“Yeah, the first time I went, I was really scared, too.  I tried to jump out of the car, because I had a really hard time in cars back then.  Like way harder than now.  Luckily the doors had child locks on them, and Mom got in back and held me.  Then when we got to the office, I wouldn’t talk, but Mom stayed with me and Mama, too.  I didn’t want them to go.”

“I’m glad they stayed with you,” Pearl says.

“So, the first couple times, it happened like that.  And after that, I felt comfortable being there.  When Dr. H. talked to me about privacy for the first time, and proved to me that she meant it.  That it really was private for just me and her, and I could trust her, I stopped needing my Moms to come in with me.”  Jesus pauses.  “I bet Gracie could come in with you, so you could feel safe.”

“Well, Gracie comes everywhere with me, but there aren’t a lot of resources up here.  Mental health wise.”

“That sucks,” Jesus says, disappointed.  “You should be able to get therapy if you’re ready.”

–

“Well, again, I’m not sure how ready I am…” Pearl admits but she’s struck by just how perceptive Jesus is.  Just how dialed in he is to her and what she needs to hear.

It’s an entirely different experience than her mom telling her to leave Gracie at home because she can cope without her.  Entirely different than the cashier at SuperOne wanting to rehash the worst night of Pearl’s life every couple of weeks.  Entirely different than her high school friends who alternately had too much interest in what happened to her, pumping her for information, or too little, expecting her to be exactly the same.

“Well, yeah, but there’s no pressure.  You have Gracie.  She’s kinda like a therapist.  And you have me,” he points to himself and whispers, with a wide smile, “Not like a therapist.”

“True, and I do have a couple of other friends I touch base with about it, too.  Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to friends, too.  Don’t you find?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you know they’re not getting paid to hear you talk about your crap,” he says.  “No disrespect to Dr. H.  She’s awesome.  Just…”

“Yeah,” Pearl nods.  “I know exactly what you mean.  There was actually one counselor, like, right after…but all I felt from her was pressure.  Which was the last thing I needed.”

“No, you need someone to be patient.  To ask what you need, not to tell you what they need from you.”

“God, you’re smart…” she says, not shy about telling him this.  

Jesus blinks.  “Seriously?”

“You know so much.  Have you ever thought about doing this when you grow up?”

“He always said I was dumb.”

“Well, he didn’t respect you, right?  So he probably made sure to never tell you that.  But listen.  It takes someone incredibly smart to make it home.  I’m sure you had to be on your toes all the time.”

“Right,” Jesus nods.  “I don’t know what I’ll do when I grow up.  I kinda don’t wanna think too much about it, ‘cause it sorta still feels like I just got back and I don’t wanna leave again.  It feels like I need my Moms for extra years to make up for the ones before.”

“No, you totally do deserve that.  I’m just saying, I think you have a lot of insight and you’re great at talking to people about this.  At making them feel like their feelings matter.  You could do something with that.  You know, if you chose to.”

“Nobody’s ever told me that before…” he says, looking surprised.  

“Well, it’s true.  You’re a great listener,” Pearl encourages.

Jesus bristles.  “Well, I did have a lot of practice.  I had to listen all the time.  You know, even when I didn’t want to.”

Pearl nods, sympathetic.  It’s a smaller scale, but she understands.

“I like having you here,” she says.  “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m gonna miss you when you go.”

Jesus shakes his head.  “Don’t even talk about this.  I can’t face it yet.  It’s gonna be so weird to think I can’t just walk over to your cabin and hang out in here and talk.”

“When I first found out you guys were coming, I kinda lost it.  I kept ranting to Gracie about you guys.”

“Why?” Jesus laughs.  “You didn’t even know us.  Well, you knew  _Mom_ …kind of….”

“Yeah, but I really like my own space.  Around here, they call me Hermit West.”

“No, they don’t,” Jesus says, incredulous.  “You said that before, and I thought it was a joke.  Dude, that’s seriously messed up.  There’s nothing wrong with needing your own space.”

“Thank you.  Right?”

Before she knows it, the clock is edging toward 5 PM.  “Should we go?” she asks sadly.

Jesus sighs.  “I guess.”

Once they’re both ready, they step outside.  This is the first time Jesus doesn’t talk on the way.  Pearl doesn’t either.  They’ve said so much already.  

When they’re at his door, he looks at her.  “Can I come back two more times?”

“Please,” Pearl all but begs.  “And you don’t need to wait until you’re upset to stop by.  I know I said that at first, but now I feel like we know each other.”

“Okay,” he nods.

She knocks for him and starts heading back, but as always, Pearl listens for the door to open at her back.  For Jesus’s family to be there.  For him to get inside safely before she walks out of earshot.

Back in her own cabin, she cleans up the plate and the cups.  Tucked under Jesus’s saucer is a scrap of paper:

_Jesus: (619) 255-1270_

_Call anytime_

Beside it, Jesus has drawn a paw print.  And beside that?  A shell, with a single pearl inside.

She gasps and blinks back tears, wondering how on earth he knows her so well.

Wondering what in the world she’ll do without him.


	25. Chapter 25

It’s always a bit like a shock coming back to Grandpa’s cabin from Pearl’s.  It’s like going from a place Jesus feels completely understood to a place where he just…doesn’t.  Just isn’t.  He has to repeatedly accept the fact that Moms and his sibs just won’t get things as well as Pearl does.  And that there are limits to all the ways Pearl actually can help.  Which is a bummer.

Also a bummer?  Holding his breath every single time he comes in the door at dinner.  Because of Monday.  And even though they talked about it, being afraid that Moms might freak out again.  They don’t.  But the fear’s still there.  Mama tells him again she appreciates him coming back on time, and Mom invites him to sit down.

Tonight it’s mac and cheese and hot dogs.  He wonders if Frankie planned this menu, because it seems like all her favorite things, and some of Jesus’s absolute least.  He really struggles with cheaper food.  It’s not like he’s…how had Pearl said it?  A food snob…  It’s that when he was There, and starving He would only leave Jesus with so many packages of Ramen and so much water.  And when it ran out?  Then, Jesus was screwed.

Mac and cheese isn’t exactly the same.  In fact, Callie makes some that’s more homemade, and Jesus digs that.  But this is straight out of the blue box.  Powdered cheese.  Frozen hot dogs.  Not to mention (again) there’s almost nothing to save.  So even though his bag is super full, it doesn’t really matter that much.  Because he always feels better having more food, not the same amount, not less.  By now, they’ve played some old board game called Parcheesi and pretty much all the other sibs have grabbed a shower.  

“Wasn’t that so good, Jesus?” Frankie asks as he walks her upstairs.  

“Did you ask Moms to have that?” he wonders.

“And they said yes.  And I even got to stir,” she says, pausing to concentrate.

“Nice.”

“I’m so happy Moms hided that one deer inside of a place where we don’t have to see him and be so sad.”

“Yeah.  Me, too.”  (Jesus had relented at the idea of taking it down when Moms promised he could know exactly where it was going to be, so he wouldn’t accidentally be face to face with it.)  For now, it was hidden in Grandpa’s bedroom closet.

“Will you color with me?” Frankie asks once they get to the top, and he walks her far enough from the head of the stairs that he’s not worried about her taking a header.

“I will, I just got something to take care of first,” Jesus promises.

If he wasn’t feeling gross from binging on all the New Year’s Eve food, and not showering in the morning, Jesus is definitely feeling it now.  Their dinner tonight reminds Jesus of countless nights stuck standing behind a kitchen chair watching Him eat, and complain about how crappy Jesus cooked.  Never mind that he’d been nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…  Never mind that no one actually taught him to cook anything.  It always put him on edge.  He needed a shower.  It made him feel dirty.

“Okay, so do you  _promise_?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah, I totally promise.  Go play with somebody else, and I’ll find you when I’m done, okay?”

He gets down and pulls out sweats which he hasn’t actually worn to sleep at all since he’s been here.  It might be cool not to sleep in jeans.  Mariana’s busy talking to Jude about something.  Jesus won’t bother her tonight.  He needs to make the shower quick anyway, because Frankie’s waiting for him.

Jesus focuses on that.  On hanging out with his little sis once this is over.

He turns the water on, and adjusts the temp.  It isn’t until he steps in, that he realizes that the water pressure sucks, and it’s barely lukewarm, even after running a while.  Even standing here in swim trunks and a tank isn’t helping.  The terrible combo of being cold and alone is always gonna equal getting stuck.  He should have asked Mariana to hang out in the hall, but of course, Jesus had thought he could handle it.  And now?

Now, he’s stuck remembering other showers where the water pressure sucked and the water ran cold.  Where he wasn’t alone.  Where the curtain could be jerked back at any time.  Where he could get looked at or have his pic taken or worse.  

Lots of bad stuff happened in the shower.

And he can’t move.  And the water’s just getting colder.

Jesus tries to reach out and shut the water off, but fear stops him.  Those other showers, he wasn’t allowed to do anything without being told he could.  What would happen if he did it now, when it felt so much the same?  God, he needed to get back to San Diego, ASAP.  Where water pressure was good and there was no snow to get stranded in.

It was the dumbest idea ever to go along with this.

–

Brandon decides to take a break from badgering Mom about going into town to see if he can find a music store or a random house with a piano in it, whose owner might let him come in and play.  He’s going nuts without a piano.  Ever since Jesus gave him a heads up that he liked his music…well…that meant something.

He was used to not getting attention at all for music.  To going to competitions or performances and having everybody forget because they all had more important stuff to do.  No one had really shown an interest in his playing except Grams (who he doesn’t get to see much) and Jesus.

It’s not that Brandon’s an amazing son or anything and realizes that Mom looks like she is ready to lose her mind if he doesn’t stop talking.  He just has to pee.  Mama’s changing in Moms’ room, which has the cleanest bathroom, so by default, Brandon’s got to go upstairs to the one that’s disgusting.

He’s seen Mariana and Jude, talking on the living room couch and Frankie and Callie in their room.  So the only other person who could be in here’s got to be Jesus.

Brandon knocks.  “Hey.  You almost done?” he asks.  

Nothing.

And the shower’s running which makes Brandon’s problem so much more immediate.  “I just gotta come in and pee.  Is that alright?” he asks, desperate.

“Ha ha!  Brandon said  _pee_!” Frankie crows from next door.

He can hear Frankie giggling.  Callie talking.  Mariana and Jude talking about this new hip hop musical both wanna see.  It’s called  _Hamilton_ , and actually sounds really cool.  (Much better than his musical adaptation of  _Romeo and Juliet_.  He has no idea how he’s gonna get that off the ground.)

But he can’t hear Jesus.

“Seriously, I wouldn’t keep knocking like this, but it’s an emergency and Mama’s in the other one.”

As a last ditch effort, Brandon tries the handle.  Jesus makes it a habit of locking the bathroom door, but luck is on Brandon’s side.  He eases the door open.  

“Hey.  Just me.  Sorry, I know it’s private and all.  I’ll be quick,” Brandon rambles, not wanting to set Jesus off.

It isn’t until he’s finished and at the sink washing his hands that he realizes Jesus hasn’t said one word.

“Jesus?  Are you okay?” Brandon calls.

But he doesn’t hear anything.  It honestly doesn’t sound like anybody’s showering in there at all.  There would be movement.  Noise.  Brandon would smell shampoo or body wash.

He gets a feeling in his gut and the hair stands up on the back of his neck.  He’s gotta check this out.

“Listen.  I’m worried, ‘cause you’re not answering.  I’m gonna pull the curtain back just to see you’re okay.”  He remembers the conversation Mama had with him about Jesus and his boundaries and how important it was that they were followed.

Brandon grabs the edge of the curtain and sticks his head around.  He can instantly feel the cold water, against the shower curtain.  Against his own skin.  Jesus is just standing there, in his shower stuff.  Blank.  Shaking.  Teeth chattering.

“Okay.  I’m gonna help  you.  I’m shutting this off and I’m gonna grab a towel,” Brandon tells Jesus.  (The day they went to the movies, he and Mariana had texted in the SUV, about what she did that was different when Jesus was freaked out.  What she did that helped.  Brandon kept those texts.  Read them often.  So he’d be ready, in case Jesus did ever need him.  No more stealth moves without letting Jesus know and consent.)

Brandon cranks off the water.  It’s cold.  Not even lukewarm.  He scans the room for Jesus’s towel.  “I’m gonna put this around you, to warm you up.”  

Jesus is still not looking like anything’s getting through.  Nothing is, probably, except the cold.  

Taking a deep breath, to be sure he’s projecting calm, Brandon puts a hand out.  Stops himself short of grabbing his brother and yanking him out of here.  “Listen, I know you’re cold.  I wanna help.  So I need you to take my hand, okay?  Then we can find Mariana.”

There’s a flicker of something in Jesus’s eyes.  Agonizingly slowly, he reaches out, and with an ice cold hand, takes Brandon’s own.

“Okay.  Step out?  Good.  Okay, let’s get you out of here.”  Brandon keeps an arm around Jesus as much for body heat as to make sure he doesn’t stop moving.  He pokes his head around the girls’ open bedroom door and finds Callie and Frankie.  He checks his and Jude’s room.  Finds that Mari and Jude have moved there from the living room and are still talking  _Hamilton_.

“Brandon.  Hey.  Do you think I could play King George in….” Jude trails off, as he registers Jesus.

Mariana’s already on her feet, and standing in front of Jesus, sending looks to Brandon that demand to know what the hell happened.

“Found him in the shower.  He wasn’t answering so I talked to him and told him I was coming to help.”

“Okay,” Mariana says with a practiced calm.  “I need one of you to grab his bag.”

“He had sweats in the bathroom.”

“Okay.  Grab those.  Calmly.  Jude, I want you to check around and see if Grandpa has a space heater anywhere.  Get Jesus’s blanket and some more if you can find them.  Jesus, I got you, okay?  It’s okay.  I’m gonna shut this door for privacy, but you’re not stuck in here.”

“But-” Brandon sputters.

“Leave the stuff outside the door,” Mariana says before closing it in his face.

–

Jesus can think again once he’s got clothes on that aren’t freezing and soaking wet.  Somebody found a heater and it’s blasting.  He’s under lots of blankets.  Mariana is, too.  Because he said she could.  Because he still feels like he’s freezing.

Mariana’s found a big winter hat of Grandpa’s and urged Jesus to put it on.

“I feel 73…” Jesus manages, still shaking.

“But do you feel like a  _warm_  73?” Mariana questions.

“Kinda…” Jesus ventures.

“Why didn’t you ask me to come sing?” Mariana wonders quietly.

“‘Cause…” Jesus admits.  “It started feeling like I was using you.  And I didn’t like that feeling.  I thought I could do it, but then the water was cold from the start…”

“Listen.  Honestly?  If you, or anyone else was using me, I would tell you.  But this isn’t that.  I sing because I love it.  I love that something I’m good at actually helps you.”

“I just remember what you said in therapy a couple months ago, about how I used you when I was stressed and ignored you the rest of the time…and I didn’t want you to think that that’s what this was.”  Jesus bites his lip.

“It’s not,” Mariana says firmly.  

“Hey, can we open the door?” he asks.

“Of course.”  She leaves him for the few seconds it takes her to get out of the blankets and crack the door.

“Where’s Brandon?  And Jude?  Don’t they wanna sleep?” Jesus asks quietly.

“I think they’re sleeping over with Callie and Frankie,” Mariana confides.

“Hmm…”

“Are you okay?  You know, that Brandon got you out?”

Jesus swallows.  “I think so.  I don’t really remember but I didn’t feel super panicky, so I feel like he must’ve done okay.”

“We talked,” she admits, snuggling back under the blankets next to him once he gives her a nod.

“About me?” Jesus breathes, trying not to overreact.  Trying to let her explain.

“He asked how I helped you.  Because he didn’t want to freak you out again.”

Jesus can feel some of the tension ease out of him.  “Oh crap.  I told Frankie I’d color with her like hours ago.”

“It’s okay.  Callie took over.  Showed her how to make a treasure map with coffee and a hairdryer.  Frankie was very impressed.”

“Grandpa has a hairdryer?” Jesus is so confused.

“No!”  Mariana laughs.  “I do!”

“Oh right.”

“Listen, are you really okay?  Do you need to talk or anything?”

Jesus shrugs.  “Probably, but not right now.  Hey can you stay?  If I wanted to sleep here tonight?”

“Yeah.  Of course.”

“Okay.  Cool.  Thanks.”

He stays awake a long time.  It’s different than under the table.  Quieter.  And much warmer.  He likes it best because Mariana’s here.  It reminds him of when they were little.  How they would always sleep close.

She still does.

They fall asleep holding hands.


	26. Chapter 26

Pearl is wishing right about now that she didn’t have cell service, like Jesus.  For the last who-knows-how-many hours, she has been on the phone with her mother, who heard about her New Year’s Eve trip to the grocery store with Jesus and is freaking out for no reason.

“Honey, I’m just worried.  It’s not normal to be hanging out with a teenage boy like that.”

“What do you mean like  _that_?”  Pearl asks, between clenched teeth.

“Gladys called me,” Mom says in a knowing tone.  

Gladys.  Otherwise known as the world’s nosiest cashier at Super One, who has worked there for decades and makes it her business to bring up  _Pearl’s_  business every time their paths cross.

“She says that you went shopping yesterday with some teenage boy and ignored her when she spoke to you.  Now, that’s not how I raised you.”

“I was busy.  I had things to get.  It wasn’t personal,” Pearl insists, grunting as Gracie shifts her weight.  She has taken up residence on Pearl’s lap, at Pearl’s request.  Mom’s always a big stressor.

“And what about the boy?  Is that personal?” Mom persists.

“ _Mother_.  Seriously?  It’s nothing like that.  We’re friends.”

“Friends,” she says this like it’s a dirty word.  “You’re not sixteen anymore, Pearl.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Pearl grinds out.

“You can’t just go shopping with a sixteen year old boy and claim he’s your  _friend_.  People will talk.”

“Please.  People already talk,” Pearl scoffs.

“So why play into it?”

Pearl stops short.  “You think this is a game?” she asks.  “That my _life_  is a game?  That I would dare view it that way after what I’ve been through?”

“Oh stop!  You’re always so dramatic!  And don’t think I didn’t notice that you changed the subject.  What about the boy?”

“I told you.  We’re friends.  That’s it,” Pearl insists.  There’s no way she’s gonna ask Mom about Jesus now that she’s been talking to Gladys.  She wasn’t going to anyway, but talking to Gladys just really sealed it.  “I can’t talk now, Mom, I need to go.”

Before her mom can respond, Pearl’s hung up and searching for Pav online.  They don’t usually talk at night, but Pearl has to vent to somebody, and her mom is right about one thing: Pearl can be Jesus’s emotional support all she wants, but Pearl can’t lean on him on good conscience.  Not the same way she might lean on a peer.

It’s almost 9 PM, but Pav is there.  Answers on the first ring.  She looks tired, but isn’t sleeping.

“Hey.  You okay?”

“No.  You?” Pav answers.

“No.”

“Tell me,” Pav insists quietly.  “It’s easier to hear about somebody else’s life.”

“So you know Frank’s grandson?  My mother caught word of him going with me to the grocery store yesterday and thinks it’s, like, indecent or something.”

“People read sex into everything…  I tell my brother about you, and he thinks we’re together…”

“She said we couldn’t be friends, but seemed to have no problem insinuating that we were something else entirely.  Something gross and totally inappropriate.  When is she gonna realize I’m not interested in that.  At all.  Ever.  Wait.  Your brother thinks we’re lesbians?”

“Yeah.  I hate that the whole world revolves around sex…”

“Me, too.” Pearl sighs.

“But we are together, right?  As friends?” Pav checks.

“Of course.  Always.  You can call me, too, you know?  If you need me…”

“I just haven’t known what to say,” Pav admits, looking away from the camera.

“So?  I can still be here.  We can just sit.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Pearl echoes.

It’s silent a long time, and then, Pav speaks.  “Don’t let your Mom tell you friendships ain’t legit because they are.  You and Frank’s grandson are friends.  You are his mentor, if that’s what you wanna be.  He needs his parents to be okay about it, but you don’t need that same approval.”

“How’d you get to be so smart about all this?” Pearl asks, wiping away a tear.

“Surround myself with good people.” Pav says, looking right into Pearl’s eyes.

–

Jesus wakes up abruptly and realizes he never checked the locks.  Never checked the cabin.  What if someone’s here?

He’s boiling now under seventy billion layers of clothing and with the heater blasting and the blankets.  He gets up and the floorboards creak under him.  

“You okay?” Mariana asks.

“Yeah.  Just…”  Jesus can’t quite get his breath.  The middle of the night panic hadn’t been a thing since before he started checking the locks.  

“I’m gonna turn on a light.  Hang on.”

Jesus blinks and covers his eyes.  Slowly, he can focus on Mariana.  “I think somebody might be here.”

“Because you didn’t check the locks?  Mom did.  She made sure we were safe before she went to bed.”

Jesus just looks at her, feeling desperate.  He hates this feeling.  The not knowing if someone was actually in the cabin with them or not.  Before, He had a way of sneaking around.  Coming back when Jesus least expected it.  Once, when he thought he and Isaac were safe, He actually  _had_  come back and it was the worst day ever.  Of all the things that happened to Jesus, nothing had been as bad as hearing what had been done to Isaac.

He’s so lost in memories he almost doesn’t hear Mariana calling his name:

“Jesus.  If you wanna check together, we can.  I’ll come with you.”

Numbly, Jesus gets up.  He hates when the memories blindside him like this.  Because he’s not gonna be able to sleep now.  Or if he does sleep he’s gonna wake up screaming.  And that’s gonna scare the hell out of Mariana.

The two of them steal through the cabin, trying to be totally quiet so nobody will notice and wake up.  Jesus checks the locks only once, because checking once is okay, but checking more than that is crossing the line.  Even though what they should really be doing is checking the whole cabin to make sure nobody’s in here that shouldn’t be.

Everything’s locked.  Nothing was open.  But still.  Jesus can’t wrap his mind around how Pearl can sleep with her cabin wide open to the whole world, practically.

Jesus and Mariana get back to Brandon and Jude’s room.  Jesus’s nose and throat are burning.  His eyes are blurry.

Mariana just sits in front of him.  She’s tired but there are questions in her eyes that she won’t ask, because she respects him and sees him as a person.  She knows it’s hard for him not to answer when people - even family - ask him about what happened.  So, out of respect for him they don’t.  It’s his to bring up,and they’re always willing to listen if he does.

But it’s hard to bring up anything when your heart’s breaking.

“Ask what I’m thinking about,” he prompts softly.

“What are you thinking about?” Mariana asks genuinely, as if the question really came from her all along, instead of needing to be vetted through him first.

She offers a hand.  

He opens his arms.  

He needs more than his hand held right now.  This is so terrible.  To be dealing with this grief now.  For the first time, really.  Because for years Jude had been a walking trigger for the memory of what happened to Isaac so it was a bit like he was still alive.  Now, it’s just really obvious he’s not.  They never should have met.  Jesus shouldn’t have intervened.  That way, maybe, Isaac could still be alive.

Mariana hugs him, just as easily as she talks to him.  There is no hesitation.  Nothing feels weird with them.  He tries to blink back the tears but they just keep coming.  “My friend…” he whispers.  “I’m thinking about my friend.”

She squeezes.  It means  _okay_.  It means  _I hear you_.  It means  _I’ve got you_.  It means I’m here.

Jesus has talked about Isaac a bunch in therapy, but mostly only there.  No one in his family knows details about the boy he got to know when both were living in hell.  He knows about survivor’s guilt.  Knows that’s what he’s feeling.  But it doesn’t  _change_  how he’s feeling.

“I had this friend.  Before,” Jesus confides in whispers.  “He got taken after me.  And we were like family to each other.  But…I got the idea we could run, and I helped him escape, but we were so busy we didn’t hear…the door opened upstairs.  So, it makes me nervous to not know who’s here.  And I also feel like crap because I feel like it’s my fault my friend isn’t here.”

“Your friend…  I didn’t know him…but I don’t think he blames you.  Friends don’t do that.  _Family_  doesn’t do that.”

“The last thing he did was see snow.  And I thought…maybe if I came here, and saw it, too…  It would be like we were together.  But I just feel so damn lonely, Mariana.  Because he should be here.  But he’s not ‘cause I screwed up.”

“Hey.  Listen to me.  You did not hurt your friend.  You tried to help.  Just like he would have done for you if the situation had been reversed.  Right?”

“He said it was on me,” Jesus manages.

“Your friend?” Mariana whispers, shocked.

“No.   _Him_.”  Jesus wills her to understand the distinction.

“Well, yeah.  He probably would do that, okay?  Because He’s the actual worst.  _He_  did those bad things, okay?  Not you.  You did good things because you’re good.  You tried to help.”

Jesus has got to hand it to Mariana.  She’s really trying.  But it’s just not getting in.  It doesn’t matter what she says because he already knows the truth.  Isaac’s mom can’t have him back ever again because Jesus screwed up.

“Trying isn’t good enough,” he breathes, remembering Mom’s words from earlier this week.  He did it when he knew better.  He’s so stupid.

“You need Mama?” she wonders.  

As far as Jesus knows, Moms have steered clear since he froze his ass off in the shower, since that stuff makes him feel epically vulnerable.  But right about now, he really does need her.  The thing is, he shouldn’t get to have his mom.  Especially since Isaac can’t have his.

Mariana studies him and nods.  “Yeah.  Okay, come on.  We’ll go together.  Can I tell her what’s up or do you want to?”

“You,” he manages.

They slip downstairs again, and Mariana doesn’t even hesitate at knocking on Moms’ door.  Mom gets it.

“What is it, guys?”

“Jesus needs Mama,” Mariana insists softly.

In seconds, she’s here at the door, and leading them out to the living room where they all stand.  Mariana whispers to Mama and squeezes his hand, then she walks back upstairs.

Mama’s in front of him now.  In the light of one lamp from the living room.  She’s so tired too, obviously, but she showed up for him.  Now, she just stands here, with so much compassion in her eyes.

He looks back.  Swallows.  Crosses his arms.

“Can I hold you, bud?” she asks, finally.

But Jesus can’t respond to that.  Doesn’t deserve that.  Tears are here.  He’s shaking.  It’s so embarrassing, but he can’t stop.  Luckily he’s not loud, so everybody else can keep sleeping.  He shakes his head no.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing,” he gasps.  “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s not, obviously.

When she extends a hand, he jerks back.  “I don’t deserve it…” he manages.  “I’m awful.”

“You are not awful.  You’re my son.  You deserve respect and compassion and comfort.”

“You don’t know what happened…” he breathes, voice breaking.  

“Your friend?  Isaac?  What happened to him was not your fault.  No matter what you were told.  Do you remember how when you came home, you were confused that we were still looking for you because of lies He told you?  Do you remember how He called you dumb when you are very smart?  He lied about everything.  He lied about this, too, honey.  I need you to believe me.  You are not to blame.”

“It’s not fair,” Jesus sniffs.

“No, it’s not.  You boys should all be home with your parents right now, and He took that away from your friend.  Because He didn’t see you as people.  But you are, Jesus.  And Isaac was, too.  I can’t imagine how painful this is for you, and I’d really like to hold onto you to comfort you.”

“I don’t deserve you.  Or this.  Or anything.”

“You do deserve me.  And you deserve to be talked to.  And held when you hurt.  May I please, honey?  I can see you’re upset.”

“Fine,” his voice cuts out.

“Yes?” she checks.

“Yes…” he whispers.

Her arms come around him and Jesus can feel his knees get weak.  Mama comes down with him.  She never lets go.  Just holds him.  

Jesus feels like he’s broken into pieces.

But he has no doubt that in Mama’s arms she has all of him with her.  And she’s just waiting until he can start to heal.

This, Jesus knows, is just the beginning.


	27. Chapter 27

Jesus wakes up suddenly.

He’s on the couch with his yellow blanket covering him.  He doesn’t remember having it.  Doesn’t remember  _being_  out here at all.  But slowly, it starts to come back: waking up to check the locks.  The memory of Him coming back unexpectedly when Jesus convinced Isaac to escape.  And what happened to Isaac when He found out.

Jesus had told Mariana.  Mariana had told Mama. Not all of it, but some.

Mama had been out here with him, but she’s not anymore because she knows he wouldn’t be comfortable with them sleeping in the same room, even if she was nowhere near him.  Jesus is sure she’s the one who got his blanket.  Who covered him with it.  It’s her way of showing him she was here. That he’s not alone.

Still, now, Jesus just feels empty and heavy and so sad.  This place feels like it’s full of ghosts even though he’s never been up here before this week.  Even though Isaac never has.  But the snow is connecting them.  And wrecking Jesus.

He has to get out of here.

Quietly, Jesus walks to the kitchen and picks up the landline.  The display screen says it’s 5:59 AM.  It’s super dark out.  But he remembers that Pearl’s up even earlier than this.  Even though the buttons sound super loud, Jesus risks scrolling through the numbers to find hers.

He paces back to the living room and waits.

“Jesus?” Pearl asks, sounding wide awake.

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“I need to get out of here.  Can I walk Gracie with you?” he asks.

“Sure.  Give us five minutes.  We’ll come get you.”

“Don’t knock.  I’ll watch for your light.”

“Leave your parents a note.  Let them know they can call me anytime, to reach you.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.  I’ll be right there.”

Jesus hangs up the phone and makes his way upstairs to find his jeans and a warmer shirt.  Goes to the bathroom and dresses really fast.  Then, he’s back downstairs.  He grabs a yellow legal pad of Grandpa’s and writes:

_Out walking Gracie with Pearl.  You can call her anytime to talk to me.  - Jesus_

Finally, he grabs his jacket, gloves and hat.  His backpack, which he stuffs with his headphones and blanket.  He grabs a muffin from the counter to add to his stash, because it’s been way too long since he’s been able to add new food to it.

Then, he waits.

–

Pearl makes quick work of getting ready to go and putting Gracie’s leash on.  A call from Jesus at six in the morning isn’t typical.  So even though walking her dog in the dark isn’t something Pearl would normally do, she has to trust her gut.

Jesus is letting her know what he needs.  He’s trusting her.  And she’s been up for hours anyway.  It’s not like she’s busy today or anything.  

She steps outside, glad it feels slightly warmer than it could.  She makes her way to Frank’s cabin and stops in front of the door.  Jesus is there, all ready to go.

He looks rough, though.  Sad.  Haunted.  She watches as he silently turns and locks the door behind himself and then reaches for her hand.

Pearl hesitates.  She’s not a fan of physical contact, but she knows, too, that Jesus has a hard time with the cold, and suspects that the dark might add another layer to his fears.  Knows he must be desperate to want to walk around outside, instead of being in.

She takes a breath.  They both have gloves on.  That might be enough of a barrier for her.  He’s stopped short of actually taking her hand.  He’s waiting.  Pearl focuses on Gracie’s leash in her other hand, and then reaches out for Jesus’s with her free one.

Wordlessly, they start to walk.  

The woods is a place she knows well.  Not by choice.  But Pearl doesn’t see the point in trying to avoid the sites that spark memories.  Strangely, the woods feel safer than, say, the grocery store in town.  Probably because she doesn’t have to interact with people out here.  Jesus clearly does not want to talk.

Their boots crunch in the snow.  Gracie stays at Pearl’s side, never bounding ahead.

She hears a sniff beside her.  Senses Jesus reaching up toward his own face.  Hears his ragged breath.  (Maybe a nightmare spooked him…or maybe it’s not that at all.)  Still silent, Pearl squeezes his hand and keeps walking.

“I come out here to find myself.  I don’t know why, really.  It seems ridiculous, because it’s not like we really leave pieces of ourselves behind places…but part of me thinks…maybe we do?  Because…I don’t know…everything clicks for me when I’m out here.  I feel alive.  Raw.  It’s weird, I guess, but that’s just how I am.  You wanna lock your fears out.  And I feel pissed.  Like, come on.  Try it.”

Squeeze.

“I mean, you could call that brave.  My mother calls it reckless.  It’s just kinda the way it is for me.”

Pearl goes quiet.  Because the woods in the winter aren’t the same as the woods in spring.  She avoids the woods in springtime like the plague.

She hears more from Jesus.  He’s obviously not okay, but any teenager who can willingly let his feelings out like this and not by overcompensating in some other way is impressive to Pearl.

“Sometimes, we just have to let it out,” she comments softly.  “And that’s fine.  Strength…what we usually see of it is domineering, right?  It’s loud.  It’s in our faces.  But all strength isn’t like that.  Sometimes, it means letting your guard down when it makes complete sense to leave it up.  To never cry another tear.  To never show that anything hurts us.  But hurting is a part of being human.  I like to think it’s the flipside of loving, maybe.  ‘Cause if we didn’t love, it wouldn’t matter if we hurt.  If we lost.  You know?”

Squeeze.

–

Somehow, Pearl knows just what to say.  She doesn’t call him out for being weak, like That Asshole always did.  Like how He was always so hard on Isaac because Isaac had real feelings.  Now, it feels like, for the first time, Jesus feels what Isaac must’ve felt.

How deep he felt.

How he wasn’t afraid to cry.  To share.  To just be who he was and ignore all Jesus’s advice to toughen up and forget his family because it was easier.

Isaac never forgot the people he loved most.

And Jesus is never gonna forget Isaac, either.  Even though it hurts like hell to remember the way he had to live for all those months that Jesus knew him.  It hurts to know he was happy once, too, because Jesus knows exactly how terrible his end was.  And even though it’s been four and a half years since the day Isaac just couldn’t stay alive anymore, a part of Jesus still feels massively guilty for the part he played.

For every time he taped his friend’s mouth.  Put a hood over his head.  Took back the towel he gave so he could have a shred of dignity.  Yeah, there had been reasons for all of it.  Protecting him, first and foremost, but it still sucked.  If he really was brave or strong or anything good, he’d have tried harder.  Done more to help Isaac get free instead of doing so much to keep him chained.

Seriously, what kind of person was he?

It’s kinda right that he can’t see a foot in front of him, ‘cause right about now he might as well be back in that damn basement for all the good it’s done him to be free.

He can’t cry anymore ‘cause everything wants to freeze on his face and that feels weird as hell.  So instead, he manages:

“Talk…please…”

“Jesus…  Are you–”

“Don’t,  Don’t ask me, okay?  I can’t right now,” he insists, voice breaking.

“Okay.  I won’t.  Just stay with me.  Focus on the light in front of us.  Not the dark around us.”

An ugly sob escapes.

“It’ll be light soon,” Pearl promises, squeezing his hand.

–

Eventually, they have to turn around and start heading back.  Her legs are aching, and numb from the cold.  Jesus seems like he could just keep going forever, but Pearl has to be practical.

They’re almost back to her cabin when the first hints of light break on the horizon.  “Look,” she says.  “I told you.  The sun’s coming up.”

Jesus doesn’t comment at first.  Then, he says, “I never saw the sun rise one time in my whole life until the morning I was coming home when I was thirteen.  It was magic.  Like fire.  Like the whole sky was celebrating ‘cause I was free.”

Pearl’s quiet.

“Now, I can’t see it without feeling destroyed.  ‘Cause, like…I got out.  So, what?”

She flips her light off, and steps in front of him.  “What’s happening right now?” she asks, concerned.

“What’s happening is my friend is  _dead_  and I’m  _free_  and it doesn’t make sense!  It should’ve been me.  It was my dumbass idea!”

“Stop it,” Pearl reprimands.  “I can see you’re upset, but you can’t keep punishing yourself.”

“It’s my fault!” Jesus exclaims.  “It’s my fault he died!  It was my idea to try and escape and we got caught because of it!  And he got killed because of it!  Every day we told each other to stay alive and I know he tried, but damn it, it sucks!  We should both be out!  He shouldn’t have to stay twelve years old forever because I was–!”

“You were a  _child_ , Jesus!  You didn’t do this!”

“ _I dug the grave_!”  Jesus yells.

It shocks Pearl quiet.

“I dug the damn grave…” Jesus manages, his voice breaking.

Pearl shakes her head, horrified.  What kind of sadistic person would kidnap children and force one to dig a grave for his friend?

“That…” she starts, her voice thick.

“Don’t.  Don’t say it.  Don’t bother,” Jesus tries, desperate to stop her from finishing the thought.

She does anyway, because he needs to hear this:  “That was not on you.”

“How can you even say that, Pearl?!  You weren’t there!  No one was there!”

Gracie’s on alert, helping keep Pearl calm, but it’s an uphill battle.  She’s never seen Jesus like this.  Doesn’t know how she’s gonna help him.  They’re not even inside the cabin again yet.

“I hear you.  I do.  But we need to go inside right now.  So I need you to walk next to me.  And hold my hand,” she says, remembering his words.  (Calm.  In control, but not controlling.)

She’s surprised when he does.  Surprised at the way he falls into step beside her.  When they get inside, she checks on him.  He still looks raw.  Angry.  Grief-stricken.  But all these things are better than dissociated.  

Roughly, Jesus shrugs off his backpack.  Takes off his gloves.  But the rest he leaves on.

Softly, Pearl bends down and gives Gracie a command.  She responds swiftly, taking Jesus’s coat sleeve and pulling him to the swing.

Pearl’s beyond relieved when he goes behind the curtain himself.

She gives him a heads up and then turns on the LED lights.  The cabin lights were never on.  She sits on the couch, with Gracie right there nuzzling her, and cries softly, hoping the swing can help where she cannot.

–

Jesus can’t believe he just told her that.  Nobody knows that he had to dig Isaac’s grave.  Not even Dr. H.  Now that it’s out, he doesn’t feel better.  It’s like proof.  Jesus feels as bad and gross and wrong as Him.  Jesus basically helped keep Isaac there.  Jesus is pretty much like a kidnapper, too.  (God, why doesn’t Allie hate him?)

Gracie pokes her head through the curtain.  Pearl’s phone is in her mouth.  A note attached to her collar:

_Call your therapist_

Jesus expels a harsh breath that’s almost a laugh.  Whispers:  “Your mom’s super bossy.  You know that, right?”

Gracie drops the phone into his outstretched hand.  Offers a woof of solidarity.  Jesus holds onto her and buries his face in her fur.  Wants her to stay close but doesn’t know if Pearl is cool with that.  Jesus sticks his head out.  Sees her crying

That’s all it takes for him to let Gracie go.

Somebody needs to be there for Pearl, and it can’t be him right now.

Jesus takes a deep breath and calls Dr. H. hoping she won’t mind an 8-but-really-6 AM phone call the day after a holiday.

“Dr. H?” he asks.  “This is Jesus Foster.  I, um…I really need to talk to you…”


	28. Chapter 28

While Jesus is on the phone, Pearl makes them hot cocoa on the stove.  They’re both freezing and need something to warm up.  She’ll nuke some egg whites in the microwave when Jesus is closer to finished.  She doesn’t want them to get cold in the meantime.

Gracie’s still on Pearl duty nudging her and staying really close.  It’s because ever since Jesus said what he said, she has not been able to stop shaking.  But she has to appear in control for Jesus’s sake.  So she’s gonna use the time he’s busy to let herself feel everything she needs to feel.

She tends to the hot cocoa and then settles in on the couch with some yarn.  Maybe if she tells herself she’s gonna do some work, she’ll have to stop shaking.  In the end, she abandons the yarn in favor of the heated blanket and Gracie.  

From where Pearl sits she can’t hear Jesus.  He’s talking low, but she’s encouraged that it’s been a while.  Encouraged that she hadn’t needed to offer anything resembling an ultimatum and call his parents.  Pearl knew when a situation was out of her league, and this one really was.

She tries to breathe.  Tries to think of something to do that might help Jesus.  She goes to her pantry and takes out a package of graham crackers.  Sets them on top of his backpack.  It feels silly and important all at once.

–

An hour later, Jesus can finally bring himself to get out of the swing and face Pearl.  It feels kinda like being born, in that he goes from feeling totally safe and secure to real life.  It’s not the same as being afraid when he comes back to Grandpa’s, but he’s not quite sure how Pearl will be now that he shocked the hell out of her…and himself.

He offers the phone to her and apologizes for the epically long long-distance call.  In response she gets up and goes to the kitchen.  In minutes she comes back with eggs, bacon, toast and hot chocolate.

“Those are to take with you, too,” she gestures to his bag which is now topped with a package of what look like graham crackers.

“Thanks,” he offers.  He sips the hot chocolate.  It tastes like everything good.  Like something in his life is still okay.  Still the same.

“Do you hate me?” he asks, after he’s eaten.

“No,” she says.  Not offended.  Not overcompensating.  Just no.

“‘Cause I didn’t know I was gonna say that, you know, and it just kinda…came out.”

“Yeah.  The truth has a way of doing that.”  Pearl says.  He loves how she can just say all this stuff with zero judgment.  

“I didn’t mean to freak you out or make you sad or whatever…I just…”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I’m okay,” Pearl reassures.

“You were crying.”

“Because the idea of a sweet kid like you being made to do something so hideous makes me feel things…”

“Like what things?” Jesus asks.

“Like feelings…”

“Like blame and anger and I never wanna be  _his_  friend again, or…?” Jesus checks.

“Yes.   _Or_ ,” Pearl insists decidedly.

Jesus manages a smile.  Feels full.  Feels a little more like a person.  Like a kid put in an impossible spot and less like a heartless bastard after he and Dr. H. had some major truth time.  He needs to talk to Moms ASAP and he needs to get in for a session ASAP.  Monday morning.  But for now, Jesus is good just being here and talking to Pearl.

“So, we’re good?” he checks.  “We can still, you know, be friends?”

“Jesus, of course.  You didn’t have a choice about what happened.  You had to do it.  You were forced.  Right?”

Jesus remembers the gun.  “Yeah.  I was.”

“Okay then.  You are not a horrible person for doing what someone says when your life is at risk.  You’re a  _reasonable_  person.  And if I blamed you for a choice that was never really yours to make at all?  Well, I wouldn’t be a very good friend to you, would I?”

“That’s kinda what Dr. H. said.  That I had a normal reaction in abnormal circumstances.  I just didn’t wanna wreck our thing.”

“Our thing is fortified by trust and hot cocoa.  It can’t be broken,” Pearl promises, looking him in the eye.

“Did you ever have to do that?” he asks.

She cocks her head.

“Something awful because you didn’t have a choice?”

Jesus watches her swallow.  Meet his eyes.  Nod.

“It doesn’t feel good, right?” he asks.  He knows the answer.  He just needs to not be the only one with it.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Okay now you ask me something,” Jesus decides.  He feels like he’s always the one asking tons of questions.  

Hers surprises him:

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Hmm…  Yellow, probably.  Or orange.  Anything really bright.  Not gray or black or brown.  Yours?”

“Purple.”

“Hmm…” Jesus thinks.  “Do you like it when I come over, or no?”

“Of course, I like it when you come over,” she smiles.  “Did you like it when I came over?”

“Yeah.  But mostly I like when we can talk just the two of us.  Because I can have privacy and because you let me have my feelings and don’t have huge reactions.”

His eyes wander over to the graham crackers Pearl left for him.  “I’ve kinda been thinking about this whole food thing…and it reminds me of when I used to help my friend out.  I used to bring him food and stuff.  Because he was treated like I was in the beginning.  Where we really couldn’t do anything and were treated really terribly.  So he didn’t have any freedom at all, and I sneaked down one time to check on him, and after that I’d make sure and bring him food and stuff.  Leftovers from my lunches or whatever.  I don’t know.

Jesus breathes and continues: “I said yes to coming here because I thought it might be like being together, since I know he got to see snow for the first time, and now I am.  Anyway, I don’t know.  I just haven’t needed to hoard stuff this much since then.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like, even though we were the only two in The House when I brought him stuff, I always hid it.  I always saved extra.  You know?  For him to have…”

“You think you’re saving extra again because…he’s on your mind a lot?” Pearl asks.

Jesus looks away.  “‘Cause I feel bad I  _couldn’t_  take care of him.  I couldn’t save him, but I can save this…  I know it doesn’t make sense.”  

Pearl’s still listening, so Jesus tries to explain: ‘I don’t really have any good memories of him.  You know, where he was okay.  The only thing I can actually see now that reminds me of him is food.  The snow isn’t even my memory of him.  So…  That really doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, I think it makes a lot of sense,” Pearl nods.  “Because to you, it’s not just food, right?  It’s tied to this really powerful friendship you guys had.  It was lifesaving for him.  You want to keep those interactions alive.  To hang onto those memories of him because they meant something, right?  Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

“Yes,” Jesus nods, touched that Pearl gets this.  

“Your friend…  What was his name?”

“I keep forgetting you don’t know,” Jesus shakes his head.  “His name was Isaac.”

She nods.  

“So you don’t think I’m weird for keeping food like this?” he checks.

“Like I said,” Pearl explains patiently.  “I think it makes total sense.  And I won’t comment on it in a negative way anymore.  If you need to keep food with you, whatever the reason, that’s your right.”

His turn to nod.

“Is there anything that really makes you think of him?” Pearl asks quietly.

“Gracie…because he had a dog named Charles and that’s all he wanted.  To go home and get to play with him again.  And cupcakes.  Those boxed ones.  Chocolate with the white swirl on top?  They come two to a package.  I love my moms but like…they’re pretty healthy…so I haven’t even seen cupcakes like those since…”

Pearl offers a sad smile.  “I think I know the ones you mean.  I used to have them in my lunches as a kid.”

“Really?  Sometimes I think I made them up, because I haven’t seen them since I’ve been back.  It was his birthday one of the days, and I didn’t know it.  He told me, and I just ran up to the kitchen and grabbed those cupcakes out of the cupboard.  It was the only time I ever took food from The House instead of saving it from my own lunch.  I gave him one, and I was gonna give him the other, too, but we had found out our birthdays were only a week apart.  He was older.  He made me take the other cupcake.  Said it was his present to me because he couldn’t get me anything.  And it was pretty intense, because…”

“…Because it’s not just a couple of twelve year olds sharing cupcakes…” Pearl figures out.

“Right.  He was needing food in a bad way.  He’d get some sometimes, but not often enough.  Same thing happened to me but I don’t think it was for as long.  So he’s like offering me this cupcake and it’s like, dude, if anybody needs two cupcakes, it’s you.  But he wanted me to have it, so…”

“You guys sound like brothers.  The way you talk about looking out for each other.”

“We  _were_  like brothers…” Jesus swallows.  The emotions are welling up again.  He hates the way they make him feel.  “And it’s like…just now…I’m realizing that like, he’s really gone and did I have a part in it?”

“You had a part in keeping your friend alive,” Pearl says firmly.

“I wish he could have  _stayed_  alive…” Jesus whispers.

“So do I.  And if you need to talk about him, ever, you can come over.  Or you can call me.  Or text or Skype,” Pearl offers.

“I kinda need your number for that.  Your info.”

“Oh, my God,” Pearl smiles, slapping her forehead.  “I guess the trauma telepathy’s not gonna be reliable long-distance, right?”

She writes down her phone number, email and Skype name.  

“I’m not on Facebook,” he apologizes.  “But I do have email and Twitter, and Skype obviously.  I’m ItsHeyZeus pretty much everywhere.  Spelled like,” he scrawls it on a piece of paper.

She smiles.  “Very catchy.  Do you think you ought to go back?  I’m not trying to kick you out, but it’s been four hours and I’m worried that your moms are gonna be freaking out.”

“Nah, I left them a note.  And they’ve been sleeping in later every day anyway.  They’re probably not even up yet.”  But Jesus can take a hint.  He gathers the paper with Pearl’s info, his coat and his backpack, gently setting the graham crackers inside the bag and zipping it closed.

“I can come with you,” she offers.

“I got it,” he reassures.  “You stay warm.  And thank you.  So much.”

“Of course.”

Jesus lets himself out and walks across the snowy yard back to Grandpa’s.  He puts the key in the lock and lets himself in.  The cabin’s totally quiet.

He goes to the table, to toss the note, and sits on the couch to wait for everyone else to wake up.  He has to remember to tell Moms about needing to see Dr. H. right away.  But before he can form another thought, he’s crashed on the couch again.

Jesus is so tired.  He just needs to close his eyes for a bit.  

He kinda hopes he’ll dream of Isaac.  

And he kinda hopes he won’t.


	29. Chapter 29

Jesus wakes up to the sound of the coffee-maker running.  It doesn’t freak him out.  Because back Then, he was the one who made the coffee.  Jesus was the one who did everything chore-related.  If somebody else is doing it, it must mean he’s okay.

He glances around.  Sees Mom at the table in the kitchen.  “Hey.  Morning,” he calls.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she greets, picking up her coffee and walking to the living room.  “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” he says, patting the space next to him.

Earlier this morning feels like a dream, especially since Moms don’t even know he was gone.  But the memory of Pearl’s voice, with the cold, and the gradual brightening of the sky is clear:  

_You were a child, Jesus._

_This is not on you._

Just like that, he feels heavy again.  (Does grief usually weigh a ton?)

“I’ve been missing you these past few days.  I miss talking to you.  Hearing what’s on your mind.  Is there anything you want to tell me?” Mom asks, concerned.  She can see the shift that just happened on his face.  Even if she doesn’t know what it means, she knows enough to check in.

“What if you don’t like what I have to say?” he asks carefully.  “Will you get mad?”

“Family disagrees, my baby.  I won’t get mad.  I might ask questions.  I might want to explain what my thought process was, if you’re interested.  But I’m not mad now.  I’m okay,” she reminds him.

It’s not like when him and Mama sit together.  Jesus and Mom each keep their own space.  They don’t touch.  They’re alike in the ways they cope badly with stress.  It’s kinda comforting when it’s not terrifying.  Knowing he’s got something in common with someone he doesn’t even share blood with.

“I’ve been mad at you,” he confesses.

“You have?”

He nods.

“You wanna tell me why?” she asks.  

Jesus checks out her hands.  Her face.  Calm.  “You ran a background check on Pearl.”

“I did,” she confirms.

“You ran one on Pearl but not on Mrs. Mitchell or her son…” Jesus elaborates, looking away.  

There’s a big pause and Jesus holds his breath.

“That must feel like a big betrayal,” Mom says, surprising him.

“It does,” he nods.  “Because Pearl’s good.  And He wasn’t.”  Jesus risks a look at Mom’s face.  “I know He searched for me, Mom.”

Her mouth opens.  Shocked.  

“He told me all about it when He did it.  It was only a little bit after.  Maybe a week.  Told me He got to talk to you and everything.  I felt so jealous.  I held that pin thing, that you guys had made with my picture on it.  I wondered if you held onto it, too.  If you gave it to Him…  I really wanted you to find me, Mom,” Jesus admits quietly.

Mom takes a slow deep breath.  “I really wanted to find you, too.  And I’m so sorry He fooled me.”

“He used to look at us in the yard…” Jesus admits.

“What?” Mom asks, trying to keep her voice down.

“Me and Mariana.  She thought He was looking at her.  Now, I think He was watching me.  But we were so used to creepy dudes from when we were little, you know, that we didn’t say anything.”

Mom looks like she’s having a hard time taking in everything, so Jesus waits.  Maybe this was too much.  Maybe he should stop.  But he has more to tell her.  Because if Pearl wasn’t a dream this morning that means he really did call Dr. H. way early, and she really did tell him to be sure he let his moms know how he was feeling, and that he needed to come in right away Monday morning.

“So, it’s kinda our fault, too, I think…” Jesus ventures, wanting Mom to feel better.

“No, it is not your fault.  He was dangerous, and Mama and I should have been paying closer attention.”

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it’s not and they both know it.  “You  _were_  the one who found me.  It just took a little bit long.”

“Four years too long, Jesus.  Listen, I know it feels unfair that no one checked His background.  It is.  It was a failure on my part.  That doesn’t mean that checking out Pearl wasn’t the right thing to do.  It’s what parents should do when adults spend time with their kids, because when we can’t be there, we want to know you’re safe.”

“I  _am_  safe with her,” Jesus nods.

“You had a tough night last night, yes?  How are you feeling today?”

His mind reels.  First the shower from hell if hell was made of ice and then the terrible Isaac memories sneak-attacking him in the middle of the night, and then this morning with Pearl.  He remembers Mom’s word from Monday night:

“Raw.  Guilty.  Like, heavy.”

Mom just listens.

“Dr. H. said I should tell you that.  And that I need to come in right away on Monday morning.”

“So you were able to touch base with her.  That’s good.  I’m proud of you.  I’m proud that you’re reaching out to people when you need them.”

Jesus is quiet.  He never knows what to say when Mom praises him, because it always feels weird.  If not from Before then from when he was super young, and the only messages he and Mariana ever got were how they were in the way, and bad, and all that.

“So, can I?” he asks finally.  “You know…go in in the morning on Monday instead of afternoon?  I know we’d be tired from coming back and we all have school but…I really need this, Mom.  It’s been really hard for me here.”

“Jesus, yes.  Of course.  It’s something you need, so we’ll make it work.  Now, how do you feel about a hug?”

“Um…I’m pro hug.”

“You are?  Are you also pro forehead kiss?”

“Yes…I mean if you want me to have them, I am.”

Mom wraps her arms around him and then takes his face in her hands and kisses his forehead a bunch.  “For all the rawness, and the guilt and the heaviness…” she whispers.

“Thanks,” he sighs, a little relieved.

–

“Pearl…” Mom admonishes two seconds after she has picked up the phone.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you what?” Pearl asks, aggravated already.  How her mom can put her on the defensive immediately remains both a mystery and a special skill honed just by her mother.

“That that boy you’re hanging around with is the one missing from San Diego!” she exclaims.

Pearl doesn’t know what to say to this, so she stays quiet.  Too much of Jesus’s privacy could be compromised if she said anything.

“It was all over the news.  Jesus Foster.  Stefanie’s son.  Frank’s grandson.  It was such a shock when it happened.  I mean, I’d never met any of the adopted kids, but still!  How are they doing now?  I remember Stefanie of course from when you were younger, but having a tragedy like that happen will change you…”

Pearl grits her teeth.  “Yeah, I know all about that…” she wants to say, but doesn’t.  She doesn’t want to open this can of worms.

“How long are they staying?”

“They’re leaving soon,” Pearl says.  This much she can admit to, and hopefully dissuade her mom from making the two hour drive from the cities to interrogate Jesus, Stef and the family.

“Well, tell me.  How does he seem?  Jesus?  Is life very difficult for him?”

“Mom, it’s really none of our business how his life is.”

“Well, he apparently thinks it’s your business.  Going grocery shopping with you.  You know Gary thought he recognized him, but he gave some kind of false name.  You know, now that I think about it, I’m positive it’s the one he used when he was living in LA.”

Pearl is on the fast track toward irate.  Her mom’s tone is beyond aggravating.  As if Jesus had a choice in his own abduction.  As if he had a choice in what he was called while he was there.

“You know, the news reports suggested he’d struggle with all kinds of things.  His poor family.  Having to deal with all of that.  They deserve a vacation.”

“Is that how you feel about me, Mom?” Pearl can’t help asking.  “Did I ruin your life, too?”

“What are you talking about?”  Mom sounds offended now.  “This conversation isn’t about you.”

“Isn’t it?” Pearl asks.

Gracie’s here, thank God.  Or Pearl would be struggling much worse than this.  She’s lying across her lap.  Gracie’s always ready for Mom’s calls.

“Of course not.  But let’s not pretend that a daughter living at home until she’s twenty-four is anything any mother  _wants_.  I wanted to see you go to college.  Get a job.  Get married.  Have kids.  You barely graduated high school.”

“Wow…” Pearl laughs to hide her tears.  “Well, thank you.  I’m glad to know I’m such a disappointment to you.”

“It’s not how you planned your life, either,” Mom defends.  “You wanted to be a teacher, and now you’re  _knitting_.”

“It’s a job,” Pearl insists.

“It’s a  _hobby_ ,” Mom shoots back.  “You can’t make a living doing that.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“It seems like quite the opposite.  You can’t even live on your own without that dog, and now you’re making a spectacle of yourself walking around with some former missing child.”

“Living my life doesn’t make me a spectacle,” Pearl maintains.

“It does when you get yourself–”  Mom stops herself just short, but Pearl hears the words anyway.  Challenges her.

“What, Mom?  Get myself  _raped_?  I was sixteen years old.  All I did was give a guy a ride.”

“…That’s not  _all_  you did…” Mom mutters under her breath.

“Oh my God…  Are you serious right now?  You honestly don’t believe me?  What if Gladys told you the same thing?  You’d believe her!”

“Of course I would.”

“So, why does my word carry so much less weight than anyone else’s?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Pearl’s quiet, trying to stifle her tears.

“No.  You know what?  Don’t.  I don’t need to hear it.  I already know.  I know exactly what you think of me.”

“Pearl…”

“Bye, Mom,” Pearl says, and hangs up the phone.

Gracie’s here, licking her face, but it doesn’t help.  Her mom is blaming her.  Her mom who stood by her side after it happened.  Who was there through everything.  Not always patient.  Not always understanding.  But this…Pearl never imagined this.

“Is this my fault?” she asks Gracie tearfully.

Gracie cries and licks her face.  She gets that it’s always tough for Pearl to talk to Mom, but it has just reached a new level of unbearable.  She thinks about Jesus not so far away, and aches for him.  Tries to think about other ways to cope that are not sleeping for days.

Char’s at work and so is Pav.  Jesus is right next door, but God, he’s already having a hard time.  Does she really wanna add to it?  Plus, hasn’t she already told herself she’s not about to rely on him the way he needs her.  It’s not fair to him.

So she turns to Gracie:

“You know I didn’t want it to happen, right?” she sniffs, wrapping her arms around Gracie.

Gracie makes a sympathetic noise.

“You know giving him a ride was a mistake?” Pearl tries, her voice breaking.

Gracie is as devastated as Pearl is by the turn things have taken.  

For a while, Pearl just lets herself cry.  Inconsolable at the thought of her mother’s blame heaped upon her own shoulders when she already carries enough guilt for several lifetimes.  Doesn’t she know Pearl plays that moment over and over in her mind?  Doesn’t she know that Pearl gets that if she had just made a different choice, things could be entirely different now?

She doesn’t love her issues.  She lives with them most of the time.  Pearl knows that without them she likely would not have met Jesus, or Pav or Char, who have all quickly made space in Pearl’s heart as deeply important people, and close friends.  But she would let all that go, if it meant her mom could love her fully again.  That she could believe that Pearl’s judgment was sound, or at least, to try to understand how a well-meaning naive teenager might make the wrong call in just trying to do the right thing.

Pearl stares at her phone, and the screen blurs with tears.


	30. Chapter 30

Stef has decided that no one should get dressed today unless they want to.  After all the craziness of the last week or so, they need a PJ day.  She and Lena have talked far into every night and Stef’s almost okay with the idea that she herself might need some counseling.  Lena agreed to go, too, if it would help to have her there.  (And because they both could use an outside ear to process their lives.  It’s been a tough conversation, but a needed one.)  So far, the PJ morning has meant that she, Lena, and the kids are not in a rush to do anything.  Stef knows that Lena got up with Jesus last night and that he was upset.  They all need a low-stress day.  Right now, Frankie, Jesus and Jude are playing Frankie’s version of Monopoly.

It brings to mind memories of one of the first Family Game Nights they had after Jesus got home.  How he chose the wheelbarrow and once his piece got put in jail, he would not let himself get out.  Frankie’s game is innocent, but it involves her being in charge of all the money and telling Jesus and Jude where to put the pieces.

“You get twenty-hundred dollars,” she says magnanimously, doling out a fake $20 to Jude.

“Where’s my other $100?” Jude asks seriously.

“In my Frankie bank,” Frankie informs him bossily.  “You can have it after you do all your jobs and eat all your food.”  Watching her is like watching Lena as a little girl.  It’s magical.  She wonders if anyone who knew her long ago might have also seen echoes of Brandon in her.

Jesus is quiet.  He hasn’t played his turn yet, and instead of moving his top hat anywhere on the board, he gets up and sits by Stef on the couch.

“I don’t really like that game,” he admits softly enough for Frankie not to hear.

“Yeah?  Well, you’re welcome to sit by me.  Always.  You never have to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

“It’s not like that,” he says, but he can’t look her in the eye.

“Isn’t it?” Stef asks back seriously.

The phone rings and Jesus is up and answering it.  As far as she knows, Lena, Brandon, Callie and Mariana are in her and Lena’s room watching a DVD.  They won’t want to interrupt to get the phone.

In seconds, Jesus is back, looking concerned.  “It’s Pearl.  For you.”

“Is she okay?” Stef asks.

Jesus shrugs and Stef takes the phone, walking upstairs and closing herself into one of the bedrooms.  “Hello?”

“Hey…”

It’s definitely Pearl, but not as Stef is used to hearing her.  She sounds like she’s been crying.  “Hey, Neighbor…” she greets gently.  “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure why I called…  I just…”

“You can always call me,” Stef reassures.  

“I think I needed to talk to a Mom?” she asks, her voice breaking.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Stef says softly.  “How can I help?”

“Do you know?  I mean…  Did your dad ever tell you…about what happened to me?”

“Yes, he did,” Stef admits.  It’s not something they discuss between themselves now, but she remembers when she heard.  The summer Brandon turned three, she got a call from her dad, as soon as he got up north, very upset, asking if there was anything Stef could do as a police officer to help catch the man who hurt Pearl.  

“Do you think I’m to blame?” Pearl begs.

“No.  Absolutely not.  You are not to blame.  Is this about your mom?” Stef guesses.

“She blames me…”

Stef takes a deep breath.  Understanding Carla West is like trying to get water from a stone.  She isn’t surprised, but Stef is sorry for how much Pearl’s hurt by her mom’s words.

“Your mom does not know what happened.  She wasn’t there.  And as a mom, that would be my biggest regret,” Stef says honestly, thinking about Jesus.  “Sometimes, as Moms, we don’t handle our own guilt correctly, and instead, we might throw it back at our kids.  Which is the last thing we want to do, but happens nonetheless.”

“Are you defending her?” Pearl asks, confused.

“No.  That’s certainly not my intention here.  I’m trying to say that motherhood is messy.  There is no handbook for it, Pearl.  And I know there isn’t one for what you’ve experienced either, and it’s not fair when we can’t trust our parents to be there in the ways we need them to be.”

God knows it’s been tough to hear her own dad speak of “keeping an eye on Pearl” when he could have cared less about keeping an eye on her, once he found out she was kissing girls at school, not boys.

“I think I just needed to hear it from a mom who has my back…  It’s not the same…and it’s not okay, but it helps a little…knowing not every mom thinks like mine does.”

“We don’t.  I know for a fact, Lena would agree with me.”

“Does Lena know what happened to me, too?” Pearl asks, scared.

“No, she doesn’t.  Not unless you want to tell her yourself.”

“Okay.  Thank you for talking to me.  I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not.  You’re always welcome to call or stop by anytime.  Would you like Jesus to keep you company a while?  I know you’re not a fan of large crowds, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind coming to you.”

“Can I talk to him again?” Pearl asks, taking a deep breath to compose herself.

–

Jesus is trying not to get too sucked into Frankie’s version of Monopoly.  It’s babyish, but he kinda prefers Candy Land.  It reminds him of Cookie Land on Facebook, but not as good.  But also better because it’s actually real.  He hates Monopoly because it lasts forever and because there’s a jail on the board.

“Honey.  Pearl wants to talk to you,” Mom says, bringing Jesus the phone.

He takes it.  “Hey, are you okay?”

“Not really.  Wanna come over again and not talk about anything deep?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there,” he promises.  Jesus gives everybody in the house a once-over and realizes every single one of them is in their pajamas but him.  Nobody’s dressed to go out in the snow.

“Mom?  You wanna watch and just make sure I get over okay?” he asks quietly as he picks up his bag.

Mom wrinkles her nose, but he pretends not to notice.  It’s been a few days since he put meat stuff in his backpack and it’s starting to go rank.  It’s okay.  It just means his blanket is probably nasty too.  And he’s not sure what nasty bacon will do to awesome headphones.

“Of course.  We had brunch here so we probably won’t eat again until dinner, but we have snacks and you’re welcome to take anything with you that you need.”

“I’m good,” he says.  “Pearl has food.  I’ll be back for dinner or before,” he says and then he gets out of there.

It feels good to have somebody else need him.  It means he can stop thinking so much about Isaac.  (Who, now is less a thought and more just grief weighing him down from the inside.)  Pearl was so there for him this morning.  And really, since he’s met her.  Jesus wants their friendship to be equal.  He wants to be able to give, too.  To be there for her.

He gets there and knocks on the door.  She doesn’t come and open it, but Gracie does.

Jesus is beyond concerned, when he comes in and sees Pearl curled on the couch with red eyes and shaky hands.

“Hey…  I know you don’t wanna talk, so I won’t ask but if you do, I can listen,” he offers.

“Your mom’s pretty great…”  she offers.

“Stef?  Yeah, she is.”

It’s quiet for a while and they just sit.  It doesn’t feel right to Jesus to just talk about surface stuff when Pearl is this upset, but it is important that he’s there for her.  Even if that just means sharing space.  Not talking.

“You know how you asked earlier this week if my parents ever treated me like I was stupid?  Well, I think we’ve reached that point.”  Pearl sighs, frustrated.  “I said I wasn’t gonna talk about this with you, but it’s just  _coming out_.”

“The truth’s like that,” he offers, her own words mirrored back to her.  “Besides, who says you can’t talk to me.  It’s a friendship, right?  Friendships are supposed to be equal.”

“They are, or at least give and take,” Pearl admits.

“Well, you gave.  So now let me,” he says.

“You’ve had beyond a hard time, though.  It isn’t fair for me to put all this on you.”

“I asked,” Jesus points out.

“My mom called…to accuse me of not telling her who you are, since apparently she  _knows_  who you are and she knows that we were grocery shopping together.”

“Why does she care?” Jesus asks.

“Because it’s gossip, and my mother loves gossip.  You know who else loves it?  Gladys, the cashier in Lane 2.”

Jesus narrows his eyes.  He really doesn’t dig Gladys and now he’s not digging Pearl’s mom much either.  He gets this can’t be the whole story but he also doesn’t want to push.  Just because they have trauma stuff in common doesn’t give him the right to demand her story, or even parts of it, if she’s not totally cool with sharing.

“And then, I was an idiot and asked her if she thought I ruined her life after the thing happened to me.  And she basically said that I was a huge disappointment to her and then blamed me for what happened.”

“For the thing?” Jesus asks, surprised.  “Are you serious?  That’s so messed up.”

“Right?” she asks, forcing out a laugh, but it just sounds sad.

“It sucks right?  When they blame us?”

“It really does,” Pearl confirms, cuddling Gracie, who’s basically crushing Pearl because she thinks she’s a lap dog and she totally isn’t.  But Pearl seems cool with it.

For a while, Jesus sits and thinks.  There’s not a lot anyone can say at times like this.  Eventually, his eyes go to his wrist.  To the rope bracelet he wears.  It’s braided, white, yellow and green plus a deeper red rope that’s a different texture than the rest.  He takes it off.  Sets it on the table.

“What’s that?” she asks, sitting forward.

“Mine.  Now it’s yours,” he says simply.  He wants her to feel like even when he’s gone, he won’t be really.  That they’ll always be together, like the rope in that braclet.  That they have to stay connected in order to stay together. But he can’t really say all that.

“This is like a friendship bracelet,” she breathes, brightening.

“Is that a thing from the ‘80’s?” he asks.

“Yes, and don’t judge it.  Friendship bracelets were very cool.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jesus smiles, holding his hands up in defense.

She slides the bracelet on her wrist right then.  “Thank you.  This means a lot to me.”

“Well, your friendship means a lot to me,” he shrugs.  “Whoa.  I think I just veered into greeting card territory.  I should go before I embarrass myself,” he says.  He’s so not good at words.

“Hold on.  I’m not embarrassed at all.  I think this is awesome.”

“Really?” Jesus checks.  Because he hasn’t really been around anybody but his family in a while and their coolness factor is not exactly high.

“Seriously.  You show love so well.  It’s so easy for you.”

Jesus shrugs.  

“If your mom treated you nicer, maybe you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much.  ‘Cause I think you show love in a way that’s real.”

Her eyes widen a little and Jesus worries that maybe he’s said too much.

“Wow,” is all she says.

“And for the record?  I don’t know what happened, and I’m not asking, but whatever it was?  I don’t blame you.”

“Thank you, Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, enough of the sob-fest.  Want some more hot cocoa?”

“Um, when  _don’t_  I want more of your hot cocoa?” he smiles.

“I’ll take that as rhetorical,” she says, smiling too, and standing up.

“Good.  You should,” he laughs.

“You’re gonna stay in touch, right?” she asks from the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re gonna wish you never gave me your info.  I’m pretty sure I’m gonna bug the hell out of you,” he says.

“I was hoping,” she says, poking her head out of the kitchen and sending him a smile.


	31. Chapter 31

Steps have a rhythm all their own.  Eighth notes that crunch.  A syncopated staccato.  

Breaths puff, every other step.  Quarter notes too slow when he needs to just move.  

His mind is racing, runs of sixteenth notes.  No coda.  No rests.  

The sound he had left behind was all dissonance and clashing at a deafening crescendo.

The distance between Grandpa’s and Pearl’s seems ridiculously long.  But he finally makes it, skidding to a stop outside Pearl’s cabin door and pounding on it as loud as he can.  Eighth notes in rapid succession.

Jesus has got to be here.

In seconds Pearl answers, armed with a can of mace and an expression that dares him to mess with her.  Instinctively, Brandon raises his hands.  This second shock jolts all the music from his body - from his brain.  How can Pearl think he’d hurt her?  But Brandon doesn’t have time to be offended.  He needs to get his breath.  Needs to say something.  Anything.

“Jesus, you gotta come.  It’s Frankie.”

It takes a couple seconds (that drag like the longest years Brandon had ever known - when Jesus himself was missing) for him to get what Brandon’s saying.  Jesus’s face changes as the words register.  He gets pale, but his eyes grow dark.  Intense.  His hands are clenched.

It’s all he says.  All he  _needs_  to say for Jesus to be on his feet and out the door, leaving whatever else he brought behind.  Just like Brandon, Jesus hasn’t even stopped for his coat.  Brandon’s pretty sure Pearl’s right on their heels, because he can hear Gracie’s tags clinking together somewhere behind him.

“What happened?” Jesus gasps, before the door even opens, but Brandon can’t explain.  He just opens the door.  Inside, he can still hear Frankie crying.

But Brandon remembers the silence - the break before applause - preceded by a gasp.

It was the only sound - the smallest of noises - that meant the ground was being pulled from underneath you.

–

Pearl stands back, and watches, adrenaline making her shake.  Nothing could prepare her adequately for the aggressive pounding on her door.  To find a teenage boy there - it hadn’t mattered that it was Brandon - when she wasn’t expecting anyone.  This assault on her senses has left Pearl unhinged.  Outwardly, though, she can’t show it.  She must keep it together.  If she’s going to be here now, she needs to be a help, not a hindrance.

She sees Stef and Lena sitting with Frankie between them at the base of the huge wooden staircase.  She looks pale, dressed in cute black leggings and a pink tutu with a matching top.  Her hair is loose.  There’s a scratch on the back of one of her hands.  Jesus is there in seconds, and scoops her up.  She holds on tight.  She’s in tears, shaking, but has no other obvious injuries.  

“Is she okay?” Pearl asks, as Callie walks over to stand with her.

“She fell.  I don’t know if it was down all the stairs or just some.  Mom checked her out and she seems okay, just scared.”

Pearl shakes her head.  Hides her own shaking hands under crossed arms.  Then, she bends down and unclips Gracie’s leash, pointing out Frankie.  “That’s Frankie.  Go see Frankie, girl.”  The truth is, she could use Gracie herself, but Frankie is scared, and she loves Gracie.  Pearl will have plenty of time with her once they leave.  Pearl tries to breathe as Gracie follows her command.

Gracie walks over to where Frankie is, still at the base of the stairs but on Jesus’s lap.  Frankie wraps her arms around Gracie’s neck and buries her face in her fur.

“Okay, guys,” Jesus calls softly.  “I got her.”

Pearl watches, impressed, as the family takes him at his word, and leaves Frankie with them, and without an audience.

“Gracie came to check on you.  Isn’t that cool?” Jesus asks gently.

“Yes,” Frankie says, her voice shaking, still holding onto Gracie for dear life.

–

Frankie can’t stop crying.  Can’t stop shaking.  Her whole self got scared from falling.  She hurts a little on her back and her hand.  But the being scared part is the worst.  But Gracie came just for her.  That’s because Gracie’s the best.  

When Frankie fell, even Moms got scared.  Everybody yelled at her.  They said: “ _Why didn’t you_ …” “ _What were you_ …”  It makes Frankie feel like she did a bad thing.  When she really just wanted to watch  _Tangled_ and she didn’t want the movie to start without her.  And so she got too close to the stairs before sitting to slide on her butt.  And then her body could only do forward not back, not sit, not stop. Her brain said, this is easy peasy.  So she didn’t say backup ‘cause she could do it herself this one time and not have to wait.

Only that didn’t work out so good.

She hangs onto Gracie tight.  Her heart is still beating like a big drum.  It’s still hard to calm down, even though she has Gracie and her best buddy, Jesus.

“It was a long way….” she cries to Gracie.

Gracie doesn’t say “ _Why didn’t you_ …” to hurt Frankie’s feelings.  She lets Frankie hold onto her.  That’s all.

For a long time, Frankie holds Gracie and Jesus holds Frankie.  And they stay just like that.  Frankie can hear Rapunzel singing and doesn’t want to.  It makes her mad and sad.  Because if Rapunzel just waited or been patient Frankie wouldn’t have done the giant stairs so fast.  Backup taked too long, ‘specially when Jesus wasn’t there.  She wasn’t too good at waiting yet.

It was all her fault she fell.

–

Jesus holds onto Frankie kinda tight.  She’s literally trembling.  This really freaked her out.  She keeps talking to Gracie super quiet, but he catches a string of things she says because she’s so upset she’s not watching her volume as much:

“I’m such a dummy.  I can’t walk down stairs.  I fall all the time.  Nobody else needs backup to mean they get carried.”

“You are not a dummy.  I don’t wanna hear you say that about yourself, okay?” Jesus reprimands lightly.

“I was talking to Gracie, not to you,” Frankie pouts.

Well, damn.  Jesus waits, trying not to listen in on all the stuff she’s telling the dog.  He meets Pearl’s eyes and sees she’s holding onto herself.  Watching them.  She looks worried.  But Jesus’s priority has got to be Frankie right now.  She’s not talking to Gracie anymore, so Jesus tries to talk to her some more:

“Did you know I fell down stairs, too?” he asks quietly.

“Nah-uh…” Frankie pouts sadly.  “You don’t got CP.  So you don’t fall.  Not on stairs.”

“I did fall.  Everybody falls sometimes, even people without CP.  I fell down the whole flight of stairs at home.”

“Why?” Frankie asks.  “Did you do all the wrong stuff too?”

“Nope.  I didn’t do any wrong stuff.  Just like you didn’t do any wrong stuff.  I just lost my balance, that’s all.”

“I just lost my balance,” Frankie whispers to Gracie.  

Gracie licks her cheek.

–

Pearl is grateful for the distraction of the term she hears Frankie use.  It’s an unfamiliar abbreviation.  She’s heard of CT and MRI and all kinds of other abbreviations for medical equipment but CP isn’t one Pearl’s familiar with.

She takes out her phone, glad that her hands have stopped shaking enough for her to use Google.  She types  _cp_  and  _trouble walking_  and  _falling_  into the search engine and clicks on the first result.  Phrases jump out at her:

.. _.injury to motor areas of the brain_ …

… _most common disability among children in the US_ …

… _minor limp or uncoordinated walk_ …

If Cerebral Palsy was the most common motor disability for kids to have in the country, why had Pearl never heard of it?  There was a list of other difficulties children with CP could experience and Pearl couldn’t help but wonder if Frankie would experience any of these, too.

She thinks about her assumption that Frankie’s walk was mocking someone else, just nights ago.  How Jesus never shared his sister’s diagnosis, even though he obviously knew it.  She wonders if he’s ashamed of it.  If she is.  Or if it’s like herself and Jesus and their trauma.  Does Jesus view it as private information?  

That would make sense, though Pearl has never thought about kids with disabilities in terms of their rights to privacy.  She turns off her phone, and as Brandon moves closer to check on Frankie, Pearl moves away.  Starts pacing in a back hall, away from everyone.  She doesn’t need to draw attention.  Doesn’t need everyone focused on her.  Especially when they should be focused on Frankie.

“Are you alright?” Stef asks, scaring Pearl into next week.  

She clutches a hand to her chest.  Tries to get her breath.  “Yeah.  I’m fine,” she reassures.  But that act alone has revealed Pearl’s tremor.  

Stef studies her closely.  “Would you like to sit down in the kitchen?”

“I’m okay,” Pearl attempts, but her voice is shaking now, too.  Tears are in her eyes.  God, this is so embarrassing.  “I’m okay.  It’s not you,” she hurries to reassure.  “It’s just a reflex.”

She does not elaborate.  Does not offer that Brandon coming over and pounding on her door like a madman fit to murder them had directly caused this reflex.  That she’s feeling major amounts of stress and needs Gracie back to get a handle on things.

Stef watches for only another few seconds before she goes through to the base of the stairs.  Pearl lingers, so she can see them, but not be seen.

“Frankie, Gracie needs to go back to Pearl now.  She’s glad you’re okay, though,” Stef says, prying Frankie off of Gracie.  

“I still need her though…” Frankie whines pitifully.  “I’m not all the way calmed down yet.”

“Yes, but you have Jesus, and me, and Mama, and all the rest of the family to help you do that.  Pearl just has Gracie.”

“Okay,” Frankie agrees finally, though Gracie is already at Pearl’s side.

“Come with me,” Stef urges and walks Pearl down the hall where she opens a door.  “If you and Gracie need some space, you’re welcome to hang out in here.”

Pearl expels a breath.  “Thank you,” she manages.  “I won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you need.  No rush,” Stef encourages quietly.  “No one will bother you here.”

–

Frankie has decided that Jesus’s arms is where she wants to be until further notice.  Every time he tries to convince her that she could sit on the couch, or with Moms, or anybody else that isn’t him, she hangs on tighter.  So he stops trying to put her down.

She obviously needs the security, even though he has no idea how Frankie’s decided Jesus is a safe person.  He scares himself sometimes.  Scares her sometimes.  But not right now apparently.  So, they walk around together, and it kinda reminds him of when she was a baby and how he used to carry her around everywhere then.

He’s just making circles around the cabin, basically, stopping so Frankie can say hi to Mariana, or Callie, or Moms.  But Jesus has noticed that he hasn’t seen Pearl around.  He feels like he’d definitely know if she left, but maybe not.

“Is Pearl still here?” he asks, on their third pass through the kitchen.

“Yes.  Mom’s letting her hang out in our room for a while,” Mama explains.

“Oh.  Okay, cool,” Jesus says, even though it gives him a weird feeling.  

There’s no way he can go to Moms’ room to even check in and see how she is.  First because he’s got Frankie and second because it’s a bedroom, third because it’s an adult bedroom, and fourth because there’s actually an adult in it right now.

“I wanna see Gracie again,” Frankie insists.

“I know.  Gracie’s a good dog, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods.

“What would you tell Gracie if you could?” he checks.

Frankie buries her face in Jesus’s shoulder.  “Stop saying those words…” she whimpers.

“Okay.  I’m sorry,” Jesus apologizes.

“I wanna talk to Gracie not to you guys.  She doesn’t say I’m bad…”

Jesus can just make out the words muffled against his shirt.  “Hey.  Who said my buddy was bad?”

“Nobody,” Frankie denies, but she can’t look him in the eye.

“Seriously.  I wanna know.  I wanna talk to them about this.”

“I  _am_  bad at walking.”

Jesus lets out a breath.  “Who says?”

“Me and all them who yelled…” Frankie admits.

“Can you whisper to me?” he asks.  “Just tell  _me_?”

“Everybody,” she obliges, speaking softly into his ear.  “When I fell, they all yelled and not their words but their loudness said it and their faces:  _You’re so bad Frankie.  You didn’t do the greatest choices and why_ didn’t _you and what_ were _you_?”

Jesus tries to breathe.  Tries not to let his anger show just now.  ‘Cause Frankie will definitely misread that and think he’s mad at her, too.  But how fair is it that Moms make the call that she sleeps upstairs and then it’s on her when she falls?  She could just as easily be cool down here all the time.  Sleep in the room downstairs.  Go up once in awhile.  Not regularly like she has to as long as she sleeps up there.

“Listen to me,” he whispers back, hoping the temptation of a secret told will be great enough that Frankie won’t shut him out.  “You aren’t bad.  Not one bit.  You’re not bad at walking.  You walk all the time.  Lots of places.”

“And fall…” Frankie sighs.

“Yeah?  And what do you do after that?” Jesus wonders, still whispering.

She’s confused.  Just looks at him.

“You get up, right?  You don’t stay on the ground, do you?”

Frankie shakes her head, her curls bouncing, too.

“Getting up is the part that matters, buddy.  And you always get up.  You let people help you when you need it, too.  Like I’m carrying you right now.  But soon, I bet your legs are gonna be so bored from this, you’re gonna be ready to walk again, aren’t you?”

“Not stairs,” she insists.

“No, I agree.  Not these stairs.  But where it’s safe.  On the floors inside.  You think you might wanna let your legs not be so bored anymore?”

“Maybe…” Frankie admits, but she’s still holding on tight to him.  So he carries her out to the kitchen and sits down across from Moms.

“Listen.  We’ve gotta talk.”


	32. Chapter 32

Frankie sits on Jesus’s lap.  Mama and Mom are making dinner but Frankie doesn’t want to help.  She’s still scared inside.  Like her body is shaking but ‘visible-shaking so no people can tell.

“What are we doing?” she whispers to Jesus because Frankie doesn’t want to talk to Moms that much.

“Having Porch Time with Moms.  I have it when I need to talk to them about stuff I need to be safe, and you can talk to them about stuff you need to be safe, too.  And your feelings and stuff if you want.”

She hides her face.  She’s not ready yet.

“You…” she manages. “Not me.”

“Okay,” he says.  Like magic, Night-Night’s there in her arms.  It helps ‘cause Night-Night helps all the time, ‘specially at calming down.

“What’s up, guys?” Mama asks.  Frankie hears her come sit down at the table.

“We wanna talk to you,” Jesus says, even though Frankie’s hiding under Night-Night, not seeing them.  “We need to talk to you.  Because Frankie can’t walk on these stairs and be safe.  So she needs to sleep downstairs tonight and tomorrow night.”

“By myself?” Frankie asks.  

“Nope,” Jesus says.  “Because I sleep down there and so do Moms.  You wouldn’t be alone, okay?  But we need you to be safe.”

“We agree,” Mama says.  “We’ll figure something out for you, Frankie.  But you won’t be going up or down those stairs anymore.”

Frankie leans against Jesus.  She can feel the yelling even though it’s a regular voice.  She can feel the questions about all the wrong things she did.

“Also, Frankie’s having some feelings about what happened and…” he checks.  “You want them to know, right?”

Frankie nods.  

“She wants you to know about them,” Jesus finishes.

“I see,” Mama says.

(But she can’t because Frankie’s hiding.)

“Well, we would love to hear about Frankie’s feelings,” Mom says.  Frankie doesn’t know where she came from.  Maybe from magic.

For every feeling, Jesus checks first, whispering to Frankie, asking if it’s a right one, and if she wants to tell them or he should.  Frankie says he should ‘cause he did Porch Time a lot and they listen to him.  He’s bigger.

She’s only four.

“She’s feeling like she’s dumb.  Like she walks bad.  Like  _she’s_  bad.”

“Honey, we’re so sorry you feel like that.  Why do you feel like that?  Because you fell?” Mama asks.  Frankie shakes her head under Night Night.  Feels mad and sad again.  It’s too hard to talk about feelings.

“She feels bad because of how you guys  _reacted_ when she fell.  All she heard was a bunch of questions about what she didn’t do right.  She feels like it’s all on her.  That CP makes her fall, and that makes her bad.”

“Frankie, my love….” Mama tries.  “Will you please take your blanket down and look at me in the eyes so I can talk to you?”

She shakes her head.

She doesn’t want to see Moms.  They might be mad and scared again.  

Jesus whispers to her again: “Can I come in there with you?”

Frankie nods.

When she sees Jesus, she smiles.  She can’t help it.  He just makes it happen anyway.

“I was just gonna say, what if you kept Night-Night on your head but peeked out at Mama a little bit.  I think she just wants to see your eyes.  So she knows how you’re feeling?”

“You just telled her all that stuff…” Frankie protests.

“I did.  And you don’t have to look at Moms if you’re not ready.  But can you listen to them carefully?”

Frankie nods.

“Okay.  I’ll give you your space,” Jesus says, ducking out.

“Frankie, Mom and I are very sorry for asking you questions like that, baby.  It’s not your fault you fell.  You’re not bad because CP doesn’t make you bad.”

“No?” she asks.  Just a tiny voice ‘cause it’s the only one that works now.

“No.” Mom says. “CP is part of what makes you  _you_.  And we love you.”

“Not my bad righty leg and arm,” Frankie insists, finally taking Night-Night off ‘cause she needs to breathe real human air.

“Absolutely.  Those parts, too,” Mama says.  “And we wanna know if we say or do anything to hurt your feelings about that, okay?  Because we want you to love yourself.”

“I love Jesus…” she offers, hugging him.

“And I love you,” Jesus says back kissing her head.  “So, maybe we work on it together, huh?”

“Walking?” she asks.

“No.  You got walking down, and so do I.  But maybe we could help each other love ourselves, as much as we love our buddies?  That sound okay, buddy?” he asks.

“Okay, buddy,” she says back.  Her body’s starting to relax.  A very little bit.

–

Pearl hangs out in the bedroom for a long time.  She’s glad Stef means what she says and they don’t come knocking, or hurrying her out because someone has to use the adjoining bathroom.  At almost 5:00, hours after they ran here from her cabin, there’s a quiet knock.

“Just letting you know you’re welcome to stay for dinner.  Tacos,” Lena says.

Taking a deep breath, Pearl goes to the door and pulls it open.  She feels marginally better, but can’t imagine just waltzing to their table after being so antisocial and rude.  Her own mom would be mortified.

“Oh no.  I’ll get out of your way,” Pearl insists, awkwardly gathering up the wad of crumpled Kleenex and throwing them away.

Instead of rushing her away, Lena comes in and closes the door.  Sits beside Pearl on the bed.  “If you’re comfortable, we’d love for you to stay and have dinner with us.  It makes total sense that you’d need your own space sometimes.”

“You don’t think I’m an awful guest?” Pearl tries.  It’s weird seeing this side of Lena, and not the side that was intent on apologizing for Jesus.

“No.  It’s chaotic over here.  And it was even moreso today.  You’re not used to that.  To us.  If you need quiet, you’re allowed.  And if you’d really rather not stay, that’s okay, too.  We won’t be offended.”

“I’d like to stay…” Pearl says, surprising herself.  

“Great.  Well, come on out when you’re ready,” Lena says.

“Thanks.”

Pearl finds herself seated between Jesus and Stef.  It’s pretty ideal as far as setups go.  She’s mostly calm after Brandon scared ten years off her, and she finds that she really does enjoy being with them.

“So, we know Mom’s first memory of you.  What’s your first memory of her?” Mariana asks.

“I think I must’ve been five or something because I just remember…one summer…Stef was there and suddenly, I couldn’t wait to be in high school.  I wanted to listen to Madonna and be blonde and popular.”

“Madonna?” Callie laughs.

“I followed her around pretty much constantly and made a pest out of myself.  I wanted to eat what she ate, talk like she did.  Everything.”

Pearl isn’t feeling particularly social right now, but she’s caught sight of Jesus trying to subtlely put aside taco chips, probably for his backpack later.  And since Pearl gets it, and what it means to him, she doesn’t want him getting found out right now, and a big deal being made.  So she talks instead, making herself the focus, even when she doesn’t want to be.

“Sounds like someone else we know,” Callie jokes, sending a smile to Frankie.

“I do not like Donna, you guys.  I don’t even know who that is.”  (She seems to have lost some of her fire.  Her tone is uninterested, and she’s not eating much, either.)

When Callie laughs good-naturedly at the mispronunciation, Frankie gets down from the table, hollering behind her, “May I be excused?!” and hiding on the couch.

It’s after dinner, when Jesus is trying to hide the bulge of tortilla chips in his shirt pocket when Pearl realizes just where his backpack is.

“It’s still at my place with your jacket,” Pearl passes along quietly.

So, Jesus has asked Stef and Lena if it’s okay to head back and get his stuff.  To Pearl’s surprise, they say he can stay for a while longer, as long as he’s back by 10 PM when Stef locks the doors.

–

Jesus is beyond glad for this chance to be back at Pearl’s.  He left Frankie in good hands, as Moms are now aware of what’s going on with her and will do all they can to make sure she doesn’t feel blamed for what happened.

It seems to be a theme this week: first him, then Pearl, and now Frankie.

“I wonder if all of us do it…” Jesus considers, finally stashing his chips in the backpack.

“Do what?” Pearl asks.  She’s in the kitchen now, as if she never left.  Still all about making hot chocolate.

“Like blame ourselves for trauma or disability stuff that’s not our fault…”

“Frankie?” Pearl asks, worried.  “I heard her telling Gracie she was a dummy…”

“Yeah…” Jesus admits.

“It’s not her fault, though.  I Googled it.  What she has.  It’s from birth usually.”

Jesus nods.  Feels wistful.  Sometimes it still hits him out of nowhere.  How much he wishes he had been around for Frankie when she was born.  For all those eighteen months he missed before he got away and came back to them.

“Doesn’t matter if it has a cause that makes sense.  I mean, it makes sense that I deal with the crap I do, but I still blame myself for taking that ride.”

“And I still blame myself for  _giving_  that ride…” Pearl says, nearly echoing him.

“I wish it was your car I got into…” he admits.

“Me, too,” she nods.  “I would’ve gotten you home safe.”

He nods.  Swallows.  It’s one of the kindest things he’s ever heard.  “Thank you.”

Pause.

“Are  _you_  okay?” he wonders.  “You kinda disappeared for a while…”

“I am.  Sorry.  It was…”

“You don’t have to explain,” he says, and means it.  “I mean, unless you want to.”

“You’re not curious?” she asks, skeptical.

“Well, yeah.  But it’s not my business.  I wanna know if you wanna tell me, but it’s not my place to go asking you personal questions.”

“It’s just I’m gonna sound like a total hypocrite…”

“I doubt that,” Jesus reassures.

“I’m always telling you how I don’t lock my door and I’m not afraid, and whoever can come whenever and try to do whatever and I’m not scared.  But hearing Brandon knock was…”

“Hey, he scared  _me_ ,” Jesus assures her.  “Pounding on the door like that.  Not that he didn’t have a good reason, but…”

“Right,” Pearl nods.  “So, is Frankie okay?  She seemed down at dinner still.”

“Yeah.  She’ll be okay. Having a hard time with what happened, but I hope I can help her with it.”

“If there’s anything I can do, too.  I mean, just let me know.”

“I think we all like talking to Gracie.  No judgment.  No chance of her turning human and hurting us or freaking us out accidentally.”

“Yeah, I think that’s exactly it…and that you’re pretty and amazing and perfect, right?” Pearl asks Gracie.

Jesus just smiles.  It’s cool to see that Pearl and Gracie have such a tight relationship.  If he had a dog, he’d want their bond to be just like that.  Just as quickly, though, the smile fades.  “Do you think it’s always gonna be a struggle for us to love ourselves?”

He’s thinking about Frankie, but it’s about him, too, and Pearl.  They all judge themselves way too harshly for stuff they can’t control.

“I don’t know,” Pearl says honestly.  “I hope not.  But listen, if you’re ever low on self-love, call me, and I’ll build you up.”

“Same,” he promises, and he swears the same to Frankie.  To remind her she’s loved, always.  Especially on days when she can’t love herself.

They sip their hot chocolate.  Jesus’s is cold now, but still awesome.  “Did you know you’re, like, my best friend since Isaac?”

Pearl blinks, surprised.  “I didn’t know that.  Wow.  I’m honored. I hope I can live up to that.  It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Don’t worry,” Jesus says seriously, meeting her eyes.  “You have.”


	33. Chapter 33

That night, Jesus and Pearl walk back to Grandpa’s cabin.  It’s late.  Dark.  But Pearl’s literally lighting the way with her hat.

God, Jesus is gonna miss this.  Having Pearl here.  Having her with him.  Just them being together.  Sharing space.

His throat burns.  His nose.  He clutches his backpack straps, feeling the weight of the food against his back.  This is one of the last times he’s gonna get to do this.  To share this kind of deep quiet connection they have.

Pearl doesn’t know it - or maybe she does - but to have someone who can help him get where he needs to be, safely?  That’s such a significant thing.  And not having that, and not having Pearl, hurts like an actual injury.

It’s the first time neither one of them say a word to each other.

It’s because there aren’t any.  And they both know it.

–

Opening the door tonight is a little easier.  Pearl knocked softly for him and Callie got the door, inviting him inside easily.  Warmly.

He finds all three of his sisters sprawled around the living room.  There’s an empty bowl with popcorn seeds.  Empty cups.  Frankie’s in the middle of the rug.  Out like a light.  Mariana’s on her phone, but looks up when he comes in.

“Hey,” she greets.  She says it like she’s so happy he’s here.  It helps.  “Want us to help you make your fort?” she asks.

“Sure,” he answers, shrugging out of his backpack, and hanging up his jacket.  “How’d she do?” he asks, nodding at Frankie.

“Oh, she did fine.  We had Callie and Mari and Frankie Night,” Mariana explains, shaking out a blanket.

“What’s that?”

“It’s where all of us sisters hang out, eat popcorn, drink soda and watch  _The Little Mermaid_.”

“Of course,” he grins, even though he feels super sad.  Realistically, he has one more day here.  He doesn’t know how he’s gonna handle going home.  And he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do without Pearl.

“You okay?” Mariana asks.

He doesn’t say anything, but looks in her direction until she looks back.  He still doesn’t have the words for how hard this is.

Mariana stops, and keeps his eye contact, a blanket still in her hands, until he looks away.  When she’s finally done hanging blankets around the table, she holds one aside for him.  “Is this okay?” she asks.

Jesus nods, and crawls in, and moves to one side.  Nods for her to follow.

Mariana raises her eyebrows, but follows him underneath.

“This is really hard,” he admits, his voice just a whisper.  “I don’t wanna go.  I mean, I wanna go home, obviously, I just…”

“You don’t want to leave Pearl,” she answers, knowing.

Tears are there, in his eyes, because damn it, he’s lost enough.  (His bio mom. His bio home.  His family.  His real home.  Warmth.  Security.  Safety.  Isaac.  Love.  Does he really need to add Pearl to that list?)

Jesus swallows.  He can’t speak.

Mariana doesn’t say anything either, just leans closer to him.  He mirrors her so their arms touch.  With long sleeves, it’s okay. With Mariana, it’s okay.

“Knock knock,” Mom calls.  “Just wondering if you wanna lock up with me, love?”

“Yeah,” Jesus answers.

Without having to think about it, he takes Mariana’s hand as he’s leaving the shelter of the table, so she comes with him.  He lets it go when they’re out.

“Can you hang out?” he asks.  (He needs her to still be here but can’t deal with anybody just being in his space waiting for him.)

‘Yeah, of course.”

He walks close to Mom and makes sure all the doors and windows are locked.  They don’t talk while they do this because Jesus needs to know Mom’s not distracted.  When they’re done, she looks at him for a long time.

“Do you need a hug?” she asks so sincerely that Jesus just grabs on.

This seriously sucks.  He wishes he could bring Pearl home with them.  That she would be as comfortable, feel as safe there, as he does.  But Jesus knows that it wouldn’t be fair to her.

“God, Mom, how did you ever leave her?” he breathes.

“Pearl?  Yeah, she’s a good egg,” Stef nods.

Jesus thinks of the egg he drew.  The thing inside.  Two birds side by side.

“I certainly won’t stop you from staying in touch.  I know how important your safe people are, love, and how important your privacy is.  The only thing Pearl knows we’d need to know is if you shared that you were feeling in danger, or if someone was hurting you.  And that’s so we could keep you safe.”

“Yeah.  I know, Mom.”

“Try to sleep.  Try to enjoy tomorrow.  Spend time with her.  Say what you need to say to each other.  Exchange numbers or whatever you kids do nowadays.”

“Yeah, we did,” he tries to smile.

“Well, you’re ahead already.  You spend as much time as you need with Pearl tomorrow, yes?  And if you need me or Mama, you let us know, okay?  We understand transitions are hard.”

“Are you mad still?” he checks.  “From that one night where you didn’t know where I was?”

“I was never mad, love.  I was scared.  But I’m sorry I scared you.  I’m not mad.  I understand you had trouble and did the best you could.  That Pearl was trying to help you, right?”

Jesus nods.  “Can I go back to Mariana now?”

“Of course.  See you in the morning.  Do you think you can stick around for breakfast with us?”

“Yeah, I can try…”

“For French toast again?  It was such a resounding success that Frankie requested it one more time before we go.” Mom’s eyes twinkle.

“Mom, why didn’t you lead with that?  Seriously?” he laughs.  “Hey, so Frankie was okay?”

“She’s fine.  I’m very glad she has you to talk to.  I think we’re going to try to move forward, though, so she doesn’t get too hung up about falling.”

“What’s that mean?” Jesus wonders.

“We won’t bring it up unless she does.”

He bites his lip.

“You’re not comfortable with that?” Mom checks.

“I get that you don’t want her to feel afraid all the time, but I think not bringing it up might make her feel like she  _can’t_  talk about it at all.  I’m all for following her lead but I think…maybe we could make a point to show her we’ll keep her safe.”

Mom’s talking but Jesus isn’t listening.  For once it’s not because of any of his Levels of checking out but because he’s thinking.

“Are the crayons still out somewhere?” he asks abruptly.

“Honey, it’s late.”

“I know. This won’t take long.”

Mariana has come over by now, curious.  A giant box of crayons in hand.  Jesus goes for paper and gets down right where he is on the floor.  He picks out a red crayon.  Draws a rough octagon with the word  _STOP_  in it.  Then he does it again.  He decorates them with hearts and flowers.  Gracie.  Anything he can think of that might get her attention and not make her think the stop sign means she is in trouble.

“Stop signs,” he says, holding them both up, kinda proud.  “We’ll put one at the bottom of the stairs and one at the top to remind Frankie to either stop and call for one of us to give her a hand, or to stop and sit down at the top.”

Without waiting for a response, Jesus goes to the stairs, taping the stop signs pretty low so Frankie can see them.

“Very nice,” Mom approves.  “Now, do you think you can settle in for the night?” she asks.

Jesus takes a breath and lets it out.  He gets the hint.  Random bursts of creative energy aren’t the best for him.  He needs to be able to relax.  To turn his brain off.  To sleep.

“Yeah,” he agrees.  “Night.”  He stays standing where he is until Mom disappears into her room.

He and Mariana walk back to the table.  Jesus peeks at her, regretful.  “I kinda changed my mind,” he admits, nodding toward his space under the table.  “Sorry I made you stand here forever.”

“I wanted to wait for you,” she says.

They walk together back to the living room.  Callie’s asleep in a giant easy chair.  Mariana takes the couch.  So, Jesus grabs the nearest blanket and covers her with it.  She smiles.  “God, I can’t remember the last time I got tucked in…”

“I’ll just be over there.  You know, if you need me.”

“Okay.  I’ll be here, too.  If you need to talk or if you change your mind back about having a sleepover.”

Jesus nods and walks back to the kitchen, ducking under the table with his backpack and his million blankets.

He lies down and tries to sleep.  But even with the distraction of the stop signs for Frankie, Jesus’s mind is still back on Pearl in no time.  On leaving.  On traveling. On LA.

When he finally does drift off, it’s restless, at best.

–

Pearl is in denial.

Jesus isn’t leaving.  That’s it.  She’s decided.  He can’t leave.  He’s the first person she’s allowed close to her - as in  _in her space_  - for years.  The idea that the person who could break her isolation would wind up being a teenage boy feels ludicrous…but the universe is funny that way.

Since sleeping is the last thing Pearl wants to do, she loses herself in knitting.  The yarn blurs.  A lump the size of Texas lodges itself in her throat.  But she tries, for once, not to fight it.  This is not emotional overwhelm.  This is healthy.

This is Pearl missing someone who hasn’t left yet.

She clutches the knitting to her chest.  Wants to wrap herself in it and never come out.  

Gracie woofs in her sleep at Pearl’s feet.

Pearl grabs her journal and writes:

_1-2-15_

_This is why I never let people in.  They leave.  I’ve tried denial, but it doesn’t stick.  The truth is, we couldn’t say a word to each other tonight on the way back.  Because what is there to say?_

_You changed my life?_

_I don’t know how I’m going to manage without you?_

_You make me feel valued?  Seen?  Believed?_

_I can’t say any of those things, because then it would be true - and I can’t even write it._

_I’m not ready for this._

_I’ve got to stop writing because I can’t see the page…_

_Damn these tears…_

_I hate everything._

_Pearl_

She falls asleep clutching her knitting and dreams.  They are the same, but different:

_She’s in the woods.  It’s spring.  Cold.  She has Gracie, by her side, just a puppy.  But the woods are foreboding.  Dark.  She feels eyes on her.  All the hair raises on the back of her neck.  Not again.  Please.  Not again.  She thinks about lying down.  Playing dead.  (She’s bleeding enough for it to be true.)  But she’s frozen._

_Before she can move, a boy plows into her:_

_“Please, you gotta hide me…” he’s pleading._

_Pearl doesn’t think, just runs with the boy back to her cabin and locks them inside.  Grabs a bat._

_She can feel every muscle in her body tense, as she waits for the sound of whoever is chasing the boy to start pounding on her door.  But no one comes. Her arms start to cramp from standing with the bat for so long._

_Eventually, she hears a whimper behind her._

_She turns._

_For the first time, she gets a good look at the boy:_

_He’s about ten.  Dark hair, brown eyes.  Bracelets on his wrists. (No - not bracelets - oh God…)  He’s dirty.  Barefoot.  Not dressed for the weather in an old tee shirt with holes and threadbare shorts._

_She knows without knowing that it’s Jesus._

_“Please let me out…  I need to go home…” he begs._

 

She wakes up with tears on her face, cursing her subconscious.  

 

Because she needs to let Jesus go.

 

And it hurts like hell.

 


	34. Chapter 34

Morning comes too quick.

Now it’s light.  Now it’s real.  Now it’s gonna happen.  But before the dread of leaving Pearl really has the chance to settle in his chest, Jesus hears it: Frankie’s voice.

She’s singing.

“ _I wanna be where the people are.  I wanna see, wanna see them dancing.  Walking around on those, what do you call them?  Oh.  Feet_.”

She sounds happy.

Jesus lifts a corner of one of the blankets to peek at her.  He waves.

She waves back.  Gets up.  Comes over.  Sits by the outside of the table.  “I wish  _I_  got to sleep inside of a tent for our campout…”

He holds the blanket aside.  “Wanna come in?”

Eagerly, she crawls inside.  “Cuddle?” she asks.  

At his nod, she gets really close and leans into him.

“What’s up?” he asks softly.

“Ariel gots a tail.”

“Yeah?” he asks.  Jesus isn’t always sure where Frankie’s going when she starts a conversation but he wants to be sure she knows he’s listening to her.

“Mm-hmm.  She wants to walk like the people but she can only swim inside of water.  If she grows legs for real she has to not have any voice.”

Jesus thinks for a minute.  “That sounds like it would be a hard thing.”

“Yeah, she just wants to do what all the other people can do.”

“Doesn’t she live with a bunch of other mermaids?  Or, mer-people?”

“Yes but she knows the best world is where people walk without tails.”

“Do you think Ariel’s a good swimmer?”

“Of course I do,” Frankie smiles.

“I think she probably can swim fast, and knows how to do lots of things that people without tails can’t do.”

“Like swim faster than sharks!” Frankie exclaims.

Jesus shushes her, not really thinking about it, until it gives him a weird, unsafe feeling.  He makes himself take a deep breath, slow.  To try and calm down.  Nobody will die if Frankie’s not quiet.  Their lives aren’t in danger.  They’re okay.  

Still, the feeling hangs around.

By now, Frankie’s talking about how she wants popcorn for breakfast.  Jesus thinks of French toast.  Of having to stay here and have breakfast with the fam.  He crawls out from under the table.  Looks out the back door into the yard.  No sign of them yet.

He checks out the living room.  Somehow, Mariana and Callie are still asleep.  No one else is awake.

–

In the cabin next door, Pearl has been up for hours.  She never really went back to sleep after the weird nightmare that she had.  It’s one of those that feels so real she knows the exact spot where Jesus crouched in the dream.  The exact corner.  How it smelled in here.  Like dirt and sweat and so much fear.

She can’t shake it.  She’s gonna need to see for herself that he’s okay and not being chased through the woods.  Strangely, it’s the first time she hasn’t needed to shower for an obscene length of time, or actually check herself over to be sure she’s not bleeding like she always is in the nightmare.

At 7:30, Gracie needs to go out and Pearl is more than ready.  She cranes her neck to see the little back step.  Empty.

Wait - no.

“Pearl.  When you’re back, if you want, come and have breakfast.  French toast,” Jesus calls.

She waves, an acknowledgement.  She’s not a big breakfast eater, but she might make an exception today.  She hasn’t eaten yet.  Might as well see if she’s developed a taste for anything heavier than a granola bar or yogurt in the morning.

It’s still snowy.  Still cold enough to take your breath, but the sun is out.

When Gracie’s done walking and doing her business and sniffing absolutely everything, they walk up the back step of Frank’s cabin and knock on the sliding glass door.  (If her cabin had one of these, she’d prefer it.  Always being able to see who’s on the other side.)

“Hey.  Come in,” Jesus says, pulling open the door for them.

She takes a deep breath, “It smells like heaven in here,” she says and means it.  She can’t remember the last time she was not responsible for making breakfast herself.

“Well, thank you so much,” Stef says from the stove.

“Need any help?” she asks, as Frankie rushes up to them.

“Can I pet Gracie?” she asks.  “We really missed each other.”

“Honey…” Stef starts, casting an apologetic glance Pearl’s way.

“Sure, you can,” Pearl nods.  Now her attention is on Stef.  “What can  I do?”

Pearl has never been one to sit back and let others do all the work, though the kids, including Jesus, don’t seem to mind if Stef and Lena are busy and they aren’t.  Pearl tries not to judge, but it’s hard.  She grew up with a single parent.   _Had_  to help her mom.  There was no question.  They wouldn’t survive otherwise.

By the time they sit down to breakfast, Pearl almost feels at ease.  The more time she spends around Stef, the more she remembers all the things she loved about her.  It feels patently unfair that they’re leaving tomorrow.

“Can Gracie come to our house?” Frankie asks, around a bite of French toast.

“She  _is_  at our house,” Brandon supplies.

“I mean our California one.  Can you guys come there since we came here?”

“It’s a long drive,” Pearl points out weakly.

“You fly on a plane,” Frankie explains.  “It makes you go super fast.”

She doesn’t know what to say, and she’s distracted by Mariana who’s whispering to Jesus.  He hasn’t touched his food.  She reaches in her pocket and hands him a granola bar under the table.

They lock eyes and he puts it in his pocket.  Then he picks up his fork and starts to eat.  No easy way to store French toast and eggs must’ve hung him up a little, but at least he’s eating now.

Pearl picks up her own fork and eats, too.  The food is good.  She actually has an appetite and finishes everything, before bringing her plate to the sink, rinsing it and opening the dishwasher to find all clean dishes waiting.

She bends down and starts putting them away.  Gracie’s beside her.  And before she knows it Jesus is too:

“Um, can we get out of here?” he asks, looking skittish.

“Yeah, I was just gonna help your moms by finishing this and then we can go.  Wanna help?” she asks, hoping her annoyance at all the kids’ reluctance to pitch in doesn’t show.

“I…can’t,” he whispers.  He looks torn.

“I don’t understand,” Pearl blinks.

“I can’t help with kitchen chores.  Trauma thing,” he says simply.

“Is the fact that I’m doing this making you nervous?” she wonders.

“Yeah,” he nods.

So, as anxious as it makes her to leave a mess behind, she takes Jesus at his word and gathers her things to go next door.

“Please come back and say goodbye,” Stef begs, wrapping Pearl in a warm hug that she’s not ready for, but relaxes into.  It’s everything she wanted as a child.  To be seen.  Noticed.  Affirmed by older, cooler, Stef.

“I will.  Tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, we’ll be out the door early,”

“I’ll be up,” Pearl says at the same time as Jesus insists: “She’ll be up.”

–

In Pearl’s cabin again, Jesus feels like he can finally breathe. Relax.  Be.  It’s his favorite thing about this place.  There’s so much on his mind.  The trip home feels like it weighs a million pounds.  There’s the packing.  The being in the car.  The airport.  LA.  The meal situation being all screwy.  Even thinking about it makes him feel a little panicky.

“I didn’t know about your kitchen thing.  Sorry,” Pearl apologizes.

“It’s fine,” Jesus says absently.

“What’s on your mind?” Pearl wonders.  Gracie rests her head in Pearl’s lap.  Jesus is a little jealous.

“Going home.  Coming out here was so hard.  And leaving, I know what to expect, so it’s gonna suck even more.”

“Is there any way I can help?”

“…And I told Frankie to keep it down this morning, you know, ‘cause everybody was still sleeping?”

“Right,” Pearl follows.

“And for a split second I felt that like…major level of terror.  Like being quiet used to mean the difference between staying alive and just…not.”

“Sounds terrifying…” Pearl says, but her eyes are saying  _I understand_.  It makes Jesus feel better.  Like he’s not the only one who’s felt freaked out over small shit.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks.

He nods, curious.

“You were in my dream last night.”

“What was I doing?” Jesus wonders.

She swallows.  “Running.  You wanted to hide in my cabin.”

Jesus waits.  He’s not sure if this is gonna be a good dream or a bad one.  Or how much Pearl wants to say about it.  Finally, though, Jesus can’t stand it and has to ask.  “You let me, right?”

“I did.”

He breathes a sigh of relief.  “Because you said you would.  If it was you who saw me walking home, you would make sure I was safe.”

“In my dream, you really wanted to go home, though,” Pearl admits.

“How old was I?”

“About ten.”

“That makes sense.  And I do really want to be home, but I don’t wanna actually go.  The idea of traveling is making me really freaked out.  We didn’t really plan how tough coming here would be for me.  So I just don’t want it to be like that again.”

“So, plan for it.  Seriously.  If you need to talk something through with me, or your therapist, or your moms?  I’m here.  You guys can talk over here if you need privacy or whatever.  Gracie and I can go out and walk around or something.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start…” Jesus admits.

“What’s one thing you’re worried about?  With traveling?”

“Everything,” he says, feeling hopeless.  He can’t isolate just one thing.  One thing becomes an avalanche of things all threatening to overwhelm him just like that.

“Listen,” Pearl says, sitting forward on the couch.  She’s wearing the bracelet he gave her still.  Looking at him in the eyes.  “Are you worried about food?”

“Yeah, because it’s unpredictable.  We don’t eat on a schedule.  And it’s a lot of fast food, and that and the car is just…”

“Say you didn’t have to worry about food for some reason.  Say a miracle happened and it was okay.  Just that thing.  What else is bothering you?  The car, you said?”

“And the airport.  And LA…” Jesus adds.

“Well, you know who helps me through situations that feel unsafe?”  Pearl scratches Gracie behind the ears.

“We all can’t be so lucky,” Jesus says wistfully.  But the idea of a service dog for trauma stuff sounds so awesome.  If only he could get one.  If only he could trust it to help him like Gracie helps Pearl.

“I mean, what about a buddy?  For traveling?  You pick someone in your family to be with you for a certain part of the trip.  Somebody who makes riding in the car easier.  Somebody who keeps you safe in the airport.  Somebody you trusted in LA.”

“Would they go for it, you think?” Jesus asks, nervous.  “I mean, I depend on them for a lot already.”

“If it were me,” Pearl says.  

“Then I’d say, they’re your family.  They’re supposed to be there for you.  You help each other out.”

“Right.  So you need help with this.  They’d wanna know that.  They’d want to help.  And now you know what you might need to help you manage in those situations so you can ask them for that.”

“Yeah, they did say that to me once.”

He remembers the first time he was able to talk to his moms about something that was bothering him - the door to his bedroom - which they kept closing at night.  They told him that they wanted being home to always feel like a situation where he could feel the most safe.  He’s pretty sure the same is true now.  But he also can’t quite forget Monday when Mom lost her shit and he lost his and they were both out of control.

Jesus can’t deal with this at all if his family can’t keep it together - especially Mom.  She’s the one he needs by his side in the airport.  On the plane.  In LA.  If she’s still mad or scared or whatever, then she obviously can’t keep him safe.  He’s starting to feel distant.  But he sees Pearl motion to Gracie, who goes to Jesus, puts her front paws on his knees and licks his face.

“Hey,” Pearl says, softly.  “You’re with me.  We’re okay.”

“Yeah.  I’m with you,” he echoes and wishes it could always be like this.


	35. Chapter 35

They don’t have much time.

In a way, that’s good, because it means Jesus can’t really drag this out.  He doesn’t go home for lunch.  Instead, he calls over to Grandpa’s and asks if Moms can come over for Porch Time at Pearl’s.

“Porch Time?” Pearl asks, once Moms have agreed and he’s ended the call.

“Yeah…um…  It’s this thing?  My moms and I go hang out on our front porch each night and I can tell them how I’m doing or if I need anything, like, accommodations-wise.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows.  “That’s amazing.  I’m so glad you have that.”

“I’m still kinda nervous that it’ll end up like Monday night, though…” Jesus hedges.  “I know you said if we met here, you and Gracie would go, but…  Could you stay?  I’d feel safer if you stayed.”

“Then, I’ll stay,” Pearl nods.

They pass the time eating lunch and Pearl gives him some cookies to stash in his bag.  As the clock inches toward 1:00 PM, Jesus thinks seriously about including Dr. H. in this.  It would make sense.  To have all of his safe people on the same page about what he needed.

He finishes the giant piece of a casserole thing that Pearl gave him and then clears his throat.  “Is it okay if I call Dr. H. too?  Like, on Skype?  I know you said you’re not ready for therapists for yourself, but she really does help me.”

“Jesus, you do what you need to do.  I want you to feel as safe as you can, so you can tell your moms what you need.  And maybe your therapist will have ideas for you that we haven’t considered.  Yeah, call her.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and calls Mama, asking if she can get in touch with Dr. H. on a Saturday and Skype in with them.

–

Pearl feels like an outsider at first.  When Stef and Lena arrive, she’s sure Jesus will want to sit with them, and she’s in the chair across the room just for that reason.  Until Jesus comes and stands by her.

“Will you sit next to me on the couch?” he asks lowly.

“Oh.  Yes.”  She moves to the couch and pats her lap so Gracie’s there, too, lying across Pearl.  

“Where do you feel comfortable having us?” Lena asks.

Jesus nods at the chair Pearl had sat in moments before.  She’s about to get up and move a kitchen chair in, but Stef pulls up the foot stool alongside the chair.

It feels awkward, all of them gathered around her laptop, waiting for Jesus’s therapist to call, but at least she’s timely.

While Dr. Hitchens talks to Jesus about getting grounded, Pearl can feel herself start to come apart.  She’s not sure why the hand tremor is back with such a vengeance but she doesn’t like it.  Gracie’s on the case, though, and Pearl’s glad her hands are hidden from the doctor’s view.

“Do you need me?” Jesus asks quietly as Dr. Hitchens, Stef, and Lena discuss the upcoming departure.

Surprising herself, Pearl nods.  She holds one of Jesus’s hands in both of hers.  With both Gracie and Jesus there, the tremor starts to ease.  Pearl tries not to hold on too tight to Jesus’s hand, but she can’t help it.  At least, Jesus doesn’t seem bothered by it.  And thank God Stef, Lena and the doctor don’t comment.

“Jesus?  I suggest breaking your return trip down into smaller pieces, so you have less chance of becoming overwhelmed by the scale, and you can be successful.”

“Sounds good,” he answers.  “Pearl suggested having somebody with me at each different stage.  Like, a buddy.  We kinda did that on the way here, but I think it might help to be even more intentional about it.”

“That sounds like a sensible idea.  Let’s take a breath, though.  Stay with me,” Dr. H. coaches.

Jesus does.

“Now.  Let’s think about this together, but Jesus, I want to hear from you.  What part of leaving to come here first made you anxious?”

“Packing,” he says definitively.  “Because of the bags.”

“Okay.  Is there any way we can help minimize that stress for you?” the doctor asks.

“If I didn’t have to see it or hear it.”

“You’re welcome to stay here while your family packs,” Pearl offers.  

Jesus breathes a sigh of relief and squeezes her hand.  “Thank you.”

Dr. Hitchens checks if Jesus needs a break and when he doesn’t, she asks what the next thing that made him anxious was.

“Carrying a backpack.  Seeing it.  Because it was all I could leave with.  But not having it would be hard, too.  Because I wouldn’t want to feel like I had nothing.”

“Okay.  I hear you,” Dr. Hitchens says. “Slow down and breathe.  We can talk about that together.  But I want you to feel safe when we do.”

This time, Pearl breathes along with Jesus.  She doesn’t do any of the other things. She doesn’t focus or press her feet into the ground.  But the slow, deliberate breathing is helpful.

After what feels like forever, Jesus’s doctor okays the continuation of the backpack discussion.  Stef offers to carry it.  He bristles.  Lena.  Same reaction.

“How is that resonating, Jesus?” Dr. Hitchens checks.

“It feels dominating…” he admits.

It shocks Pearl the kinds of words Jesus uses.  How specific they are.  And that Stef and Lena genuinely seem to be okay hearing them.  

–

Jesus gets that this conversation is necessary, but he’s starting to hate it.  It’s hard to think about every single part of what will make him freak out tomorrow.  And even though he knows that talking about it will help him get through tomorrow, right now it just feels like too much.

They can’t figure out the backpack thing.  

He still has to talk about why Moms offering to carry his backpack for him feels like a control thing, not like them trying to help.  It’s not that Jesus is embarrassed.  It’s that both options are making him panic right now.  The thought of carrying the bag himself had felt so similar to when he got away, he doesn’t want to relive that again.  But the idea of Moms carrying it makes him feel like they have all the control, and he doesn’t have any.

Jesus doesn’t even realize he’s at Level 1 until Pearl says, “We need a break,” and stands up with him.  They walk to the corner with the swing.  He gets in it and she sits outside.  Headphones on.

She keeps holding his hand.

“Can you ask them to talk about themselves, not me?” he asks.

“Excuse me?” Pearl calls.  “We need you not to talk about Jesus unless he’s present.”  She turns back to him and passes along that Dr. H. agreed.

She’s flipped on the purple lights and they still have that perfect, calming effect.  With Pearl sitting right here, too…  Well, it’s all helping.

“Can I talk just to you?” he asks, easing his headphones off.

“Of course,” Pearl nods.  “What’s up?”

“The backpack…”

“We will figure that out.  I promise.  You and me.  All right?” she reassures.

“But so far all we have are two ways that  _won’t work_ ,” he insists, feeling desperate.

“Do you know what that is?  It’s important information.  What won’t work for you is just as vital for us to know as what will.  I have an idea that could work.  Is that something you’re ready to hear?” she checks.

Jesus feels relief flood him.  “Yeah.  Please.”

“Okay.  Take it easy.  Focus on the lights.  And the swing and how it’s holding you.  Now just let yourself listen.”  She pauses to let his brain catch up and then speaks again, really calmly.  “Who do you trust most in your family?”

“Mariana.”

“What about asking Mariana to carry it for you?  You guys stick together, right?  She wouldn’t go anywhere without you.  And if she had to, say, go to the restroom, then maybe you have a backup person to carry it.  Or she can keep it with her, so you’ll know it’s safe.”

“Okay,” he nods.  “Mariana can carry it.  If she wants to.”

Eventually, Jesus is ready to rejoin Moms and Dr. H.  He updates them about the backpack plan.  And then they work their way through slowly picking people to be there for him in the car, at the airports, and on the plane.

By the time they’re done, Jesus is exhausted.  But he feels like he might be able to arrive home in one piece.  If only it didn’t mean leaving Pearl behind.

–

“Thanks for doing that with me,” Jesus says, once everyone is gone.

“Do you feel more comfortable having a plan?  Or is it still awful?” Pearl checks.

“The leaving you part is still awful, and the traveling is gonna suck no matter what, yeah.  But I do feel a little safer about it.  That Moms know this time, and that we talked through all the stuff that could be bad for me.”

“Speaking of leaving - not that I want to speak of it  _ever_  -  _but_ …”  Pearl lets go of Jesus’s hand and walks across the room to where she’s left her knitting.  To the scarf she’s spent the majority of the last twenty-four hours - whenever she and Jesus weren’t together - trying to finish.

It’s been in plain sight this entire time, but since Jesus, Stef and Lena didn’t know to look for it, Pearl had felt confident leaving it out.

She walks back over to him, sitting down and offering it to him.  “Here.”

It’s yellow.  Bold.  As close as she could get to the color of that blanket Jesus has with him.  Pearl can tell the moment he takes it in his hands that he’s registering its softness.  “A scarf?  California’s not exactly the arctic…” he says gently.

“I know…but I thought…maybe there might be situations where you don’t feel one hundred percent at ease with the blanket.  But a scarf?  People wear those as accessories.  No one would know if you had it to cope,” Pearl explains, stumbling more than she wants through the explanation.

She can see when it clicks with him.  That the scarf is more than an awkward gift for a California-born kid.  That it’s an accommodation that doesn’t look like one.  His eyes find hers and they are so full of everything that she has to look away.

“I don’t know what to say…” he manages finally.  But he’s putting the scarf on as they sit there.

“I hope it’s okay,” Pearl says, nervous now.

“Yeah.  It’s awesome.  Can I–  Is it okay if I give you a hug?” he asks.  “You can say no.”

“No way.  I’m saying yes,” Pearl laughs and opens her arms.  It feels strange, but also right.

–

The hug is super short, but Jesus is okay with that because he wants Pearl to be comfortable.  He lets her call it when she is done, because he respects her.  He unwinds the scarf from his neck and holds it.  It’s so soft.  It reminds him of the blanket Officer Saunders gave him the day he got to go home with Stef to San Diego.

He doesn’t know if he can tell Pearl all that.  But he thinks she knows it rocks all the same.

“I had a question for you, too,” Pearl says.  “Can we take a selfie before, you know, tomorrow?”

That stops him in his tracks.  It’s been a little bit since he’s had to think about getting his picture taken.  Callie not having her phone on her cut down on his anxiety about that a thousand percent.  Jesus wants to say yes.  It’s Pearl.  He wants her to be happy.  But he has to balance that with him being safe.

“Have we talked about pictures before?” he asks, because this week has been a whirlwind.  They’ve talked about so much stuff.

“Not sure.  Why?  Are they a thing?” she wonders.

Jesus nods.  “So, I’d need us to have a kinda weird conversation about it first.  If that’s cool?”

“It’s not weird,” she says, totally sure.

Laughing, he asks, “How would you know?  It’s like, a legitimate boundary talk about pictures.”

“Boundaries are a part of respect, and I respect you.  Nothing weird there,” she insists.  “What do you need me to know?”

“That you’ll let me tell you when I’m ready for it.  That I can okay it before you keep it.  And after you have it, that you don’t post it anywhere or share it with people I don’t know.  I don’t like the idea of people I don’t know seeing me.”

“Sounds straightforward to me.  And fair.  So you let me know when you’re ready.”

He does, and they take a totally awesome selfie, with their faces close, both of them smiling.

“Oh, one more question,” he blurts.  “Will you send this to me when I have cell service?”

“Of course,” she nods.  “Are you still okay hanging out here while packing’s going on next door?”

“I was hoping,” he admits.

Pearl gets up and goes to the freezer.  “Do you feel like chicken enchiladas or cheese ravioli?” she asks holding out two frozen dinners.

“Ooh.  Definitely enchiladas.  Unless you want them.”

“No, I was actually hoping for the ravioli,” Pearl smiles, and sticks the enchilada in her microwave first.

“I really don’t have to learn to cook to live on my own?” he asks.

“I mean, not if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just that He always acted like I was terrible ‘cause I didn’t know how to make every single thing from scratch, when I was like, nine.”

“ _He_  obviously never learned to cook for Himself.  So, the way I see it, He was in no position to judge you.”  

Jesus smirks.  He kinda loves how fearless Pearl is.  How she says exactly the thing that’s on her mind.

“…Is that why you get nervous in the kitchen?  Sorry.  You don’t have to answer that,” she asks, turning away to check out the food in the microwave.

“Well, that, and the fact that He had me cleaning His house like whatever the boy-kid version of Cinderella is.”

“Ah…” she says.  “In the interest of being obvious, you do not have to cook or clean here.  I’m happy to do it.  I like taking care of people,” she says, setting the frozen dinners down on the coffee table in front of them.

“Who takes care of  _you_?”  It’s out of his mouth before Jesus knows he’s gonna ask the question.  His ears burn.  It’s none of his damn business.

“Gracie, I guess.”

“I know I can’t cook or clean or whatever, but I can be there.  Like, as a friend.  If you need me ever.”

“I know.  Thank you, Jesus.”

She scoots a bag of Sun Chips his way.  He raises his eyebrows.

“For your backpack.”


	36. Chapter 36

“I was raped.”

The words are out of Pearl’s mouth after a deep silence.  Jesus is still here.  The quiet has been comfortable.  Companionable.  Why did Pearl have to ruin it with the truth?

But she knows why.  Because if she doesn’t tell Jesus now, while he’s here in front of her, she never will.  And the idea of him leaving and not knowing?  It just feels wrong.  A part of her, too, wants to see his reaction.  Will he be repulsed?  Angry?  Will he think their issues are too similar and not want to be friends anymore?  She has to give him the choice to leave her.  She doesn’t want him staying friends with her and not knowing this.

Jesus doesn’t say anything right away.  He just turns and looks at her, sorrow in his eyes, but not pity.  He’s listening.  Waiting.  In case she wants to say more.

Gracie lies across Pearl, panting in her face, and licking her cheek.  It’s never easy to disclose, but it’s so much better with her here, paying attention.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, but there’s just no good way to bring it up.  Especially since one night of being raped in the woods at gunpoint probably sounds…comparatively insignificant to you…”

“I get that’s what you’re afraid I’ll think.  But first rule in Trauma Club?  We don’t rank it.  I know how scary it is.  And I’m so sorry it happened to you.”

Pearl sniffs and blinks back tears.  She had steeled herself for so much less than the absolute compassion she is getting from Jesus.  Dismissal, she could take.  But kindness?  That would break her.

“If you wanna say anymore about it, I’m listening.  But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Jesus says softly.  He’s always so clear with her.  She appreciates it.  

She’ll miss this.

She keeps talking:

“I used to work at the SuperOne as a teenager.  It was my first job, when I turned sixteen.  I’d been there about nine months, and I was leaving one night when one of the other employees - this older boy, about nineteen - asked if he could get a ride home from work.  Said he lived close by and had car trouble that morning.  He seemed nice enough, and we’d gone to school together, so I said, ‘Of course.  Get in.’  I was so naive.”

Jesus listens, his eyes shining.

“The minute we’re out of the parking lot, he pulls a gun on me.  Makes me drive to this remote area.  Woods.  Forces me out of the car and away from the road…and then just…” she shrugs.  “All night long.  With the gun on me.  When he was done, it was getting light out and he had me get on my knees and face away from him.  I knew he was gonna kill me.  So, I just started talking.  I asked if there was anywhere else he wanted to go.  Said I’d drive him there, no problem.”

Jesus is still listening.  His eyes clear and locked on hers.

“He  _paused_.  It was this excruciatingly long pause where I knew the gun was cocked the entire time.  Finally, he said, ‘Take me into town.  I’m hungry.’  I dropped him off at Claire’s.  It’s a diner.  That fall, he left for college.  But he’s a legend around here…”

“A legendary  _asshole_ ,” Jesus all but spits the word.

“No.   _God_ , no.  Everybody loves him.  Every time I go into town, I get to hear how  _successful_  he is, while they pretend nothing happened to me.  And if they  _do_  believe it?  I have to deal with those people wanting to discuss it, in detail, whenever I see them…”

“That sucks.”  It’s all Jesus says but it helps.  Because he understands.  He knows, better than most, that when what’s private becomes public, the public feels entitled to those moments.  Pearl can see Jesus is thinking something over in his mind.  Finally, he asks, “Wait.  So earlier this week?  Your mom blamed you for  _this_?”

Pearl swallows.  Nods.

Jesus is quiet a minute, and Pearl thinks he might be seriously considering rescinding her role model status, but instead he surprises her.  “Do you remember the second time I came over?  I asked you if your mom ever acts like you’re dumb.  It’s because when I came back late from your house the night before, my mom was like ‘You know better than this,’ and kept talking about how I messed up and it was all my fault.”

“It’s not our fault,” Pearl says, because someone has to.  “It’s not your fault. And I don’t blame you.  You didn’t know better.  He did.  As the adult.”

Jesus swallows.  “So, I know I don’t have as much life experience as you, but I think I’m pretty much an expert at being sixteen.  And the one thing I can tell you for sure is that  _being_  sixteen doesn’t mean you’re an adult.  If that asshole was nineteen, he knew what he was doing and he was counting on you trusting him.  That’s on him.  Not on you.”

“So, you don’t want to demote me?” Pearl jokes.

“How?”

She shrugs.  “I’m obviously not role model material.”

“Yeah, you obviously  _are_ ,” he challenges her seriously.  “Are you kidding me with this?  You living on your own out here like this?  You being open to helping me, even after everything that happened to you?  You just being who you are.  That’s totally everything I ever wanna do and be someday.  When I’m ready.  But I wouldn’t have ever known it was possible if not for you.  I didn’t know we could do this stuff as…I don’t know what the word is for us…”

“Survivors,” Pearl fills in, raising her chin slightly.

“Right.  I didn’t know we could do that…as survivors…”

“We can do a lot,” she says simply.  “We can endure a lot.”

“Thanks for trusting me with that,” Jesus says honestly.  “I know it’s hard for you to open up and I want you to know that I get how major this is for you.  To share this.  And I won’t tell anybody.  Your stuff is safe with me.”

“I appreciate that.”

–

Jesus can’t really explain it.  He’s just had a gut feeling about Pearl.  He isn’t about to tell her, because that will sound like he doesn’t value her words.  Her story.  When he does.  There’s just been something so familiar in her all this time.  Something he connected to, even on that very first day.  That allowed him to be honest.  To feel safe with her.

He grabs a pencil off the coffee table and a stack of Post Its.  On the top one, he finds himself writing dates.  The hardest ones:

_September 7_

_October 14_

_Fall and winter holidays_

_June 12_

He slides the note her way and meets her eyes.  It’s a crapshoot if she’ll get what he’s doing or not.  She never even watched the news enough to know when he went missing or came back.  But Pearl looks at him, and then studies the dates carefully and then begins putting them in her calendar on her phone.  With a little  _J_  on each.  She does this in a way that she can see everything.  No secrets.

When she’s done, she takes the Post-Its from the table and, with a shaky hand, she writes:

_April 10-11_

Jesus takes out his phone and scrolls forward in his calendar three months.  He puts a  _P_  on both dates, so she can see it.  So he won’t forget.

After that, they just sit.  Eventually, he notices he’s leaning on her, with his head on her shoulder.  Pearl’s head is resting on his, too.  They don’t talk.  They don’t need to.

–

“Thank you for everything you said to me about Isaac.  And for understanding about the food, and my getting out of control sometimes,” Jesus says eventually.

“You’re welcome.  Listen to me, though.  Somebody should have told you that stuff about your friend.  A long time ago.  And people should understand about the food.  And that you can’t be in control every moment of every day.  You deserve those things.  You don’t need to be grateful to me for giving you things you deserve.”

“It’s hard to always believe that’s true,” Jesus manages.

“And I totally get that, but you don’t owe me anything.  That’s all I’m saying right now.  Friendship is equal.  You’ve helped me, too, at least as much as I’ve helped you.”

“I’m really scared I’ll never see you again,” Jesus admits after the longest silence ever, where they’ve just been sitting with each other.  “Because, other than you, I hate it here, and you don’t like it anywhere  _but_  here…”

“Hey, what is it your therapist is always saying?  Slow down, right?  Stay with me.  Right now, we’re together.  And the most important thing you need to know is that if you need me, I’ll be there for you.  No matter what.”

“Anytime?”

“Anytime,” Pearl echoes.  “But, for the record, being scared is totally valid.”

“What if you’re having a hard time at the same time as me?” Jesus asks.

“I still want the chance to be there for you,” she says, and her voice is getting thick.  She clears her throat.  “Seriously, I want to hear from you.  If I don’t get your call or Skype right away, know that I’ll call you back ASAP.  But I’m usually always here.  So, it’s guaranteed you won’t miss me for too long.”

“I _will_ , though,” Jesus insists sadly.  “Now that I know you, I have no idea how I made it without you.  It’s not something that happens every day, to have a friend who just gets you, like we get each other.  I’ll miss that.  I’ll miss being with you.”

“I know.”

“I wish we could stop time.”

“I know.”

The clock edges toward 9:50 PM, when Jesus will have to get ready to leave.  They’ll walk back to Frank’s together one more time.

–

Jesus has his coat and his backpack on early. His new scarf from Pearl.  They’re just standing there in her living room, looking at each other.  Jesus wants to memorize her face.  This place.  Her energy.  Her fearlessness.  He wants to absorb it and take it with him.

He can’t look away.

She has tears in her eyes.  So does he.

Pearl surprises him, opening her arms for another hug, but not coming toward him.

Slowly, he walks into her arms.  Leans into her.  Presses his lips to the shoulder of her coat.  He tries to breathe, but tears come instead.  It feels like his heart’s being ripped out.  It’s better than disappearing, though, because he wants to remember everything.  

Jesus isn’t sure how long they stand there.  Every once in awhile, she asks, “Okay?” and he nods, or vice versa.  Neither of them ever lose sight of the fact that they both have had awful stuff happen to their bodies and that letting somebody close might go from feeling okay to feeling like a threat in no time flat.

He can feel Pearl shaking with emotion.  She holds on tight, and so does he.  When they back away from each other, their eyes are locked on each other’s faces.

“Glad we didn’t wait ‘til now for that selfie,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

It works.  Pearl laughs.  She has a great laugh.  It explodes out of her.  Unexpected.  “I know, right?  How hideous do I look?”

Jesus just stands there, holding her gaze and shakes his head.  No way he’s gonna reaffirm any of that negative stuff she’s probably heard before.  “Not at all.”

“We should get going,” she says regretfully.  “But I want you to know, while I can still see your face, that I care about you very much.  And I respect you, and I value you.”

Jesus swallows the huge ass lump that’s blocking his throat.  “And you…” he manages, “are family to me.”

–

They walk across the snow together, neither one talking.

Tears freeze in place.

Fingers interlaced.

One last knock and a light receding.

They’re alone - but not alone.

Not now.

Not ever again.

 


	37. Chapter 37

When Jesus is gone, Pearl goes to the kitchen.  

She can’t afford to forget that she got Jesus not to worry about food on the trip back home by convincing him to believe in some magical occurrence.  What he doesn’t know is that this was Pearl’s plan all along:

She’ll be his magic.

It’s not arrogance.  Magic takes work. It takes skill.  To make sure that those watching, expecting, needing something to happen a certain way will see what they need to see.  And Jesus needs to see that accommodating him is not a burden.  It’s love.

Pearl takes out her insulated lunch bag she bought years ago, when she thought she’d have a job that required her to eat away from home.  The job hadn’t worked out - working away from home - and around others wasn’t something she could manage, but she’d kept the lunch bag.

Now, she packs it carefully.  A Tupperware container with tatertot hotdish on the bottom - a lot - so Jesus doesn’t feel like he is missing out.  She labels it, with a Post-It:

_SUPPER - 5 PM 1-4-15_

_(You are worth it.)_

Next is lunch.  A sandwich with turkey, cheese, mayo and lettuce.  A granola bar.  A bag of Sun Chips.  A Ziploc of grapes:

_LUNCH - 12 PM 1-4-15_

_(You are doing great.)_

Finally, breakfast.  She’s baked for him.  Packs half a dozen peanut butter breakfast cookies, with oatmeal in them, and a banana, too.  She labels this one:

_BREAKFAST - 8 am 1-4-15_

_(Good morning.  You can do this.)_

Snacks for the side pockets include a giant chocolate chip cookie.  Trail mix.  An apple. Each of these are labeled to be eaten between meals, so Jesus can’t get too hungry.  And a bottle of water, because she’s sure he’ll want it, but she’s also sure it’ll get confiscated by the time he’s in the airport, so she hopes he’ll drink it before then.

On top of everything, she leaves a note on grocery list paper:

_Jesus,_

_There’s so much I wanted to tell you but it’s impossible to say everything in such a short time.  So I’m telling you now:  I know you’re scared, but I want you to know that when you have this with you, you have me with you.  I want you to eat what’s here.  That’s what it’s for. You don’t need to save it.  Even when the food is gone, you’ll still have all the notes from me.  Save those._

_You’ve changed my life.  You make me feel like I have something to offer.  I feel valued when we are together.  I feel seen.  I feel believed.  I hope you know how much that means to me.  Your friendship is an incredible gift.  And you are not losing me._

_I’ll be in touch.  Trust me._

_Love,_

_Pearl_

–

Sunday morning is here before Jesus can even think about it.  His plan was to stay up all night going over how the day would go.  But the reality is that travel days are unpredictable.  He’s just gonna have to deal with not eating on a schedule.  With what happens if Callie doesn’t feel like being his buddy in the car, or if Mariana doesn’t want to carry his backpack for him.

But he didn’t even get that far.  The second he got under the table with all the blankets, he crashed.  And like some cruel joke the universe is pulling on him, Mom’s waking him up at 6 AM.  Just like the last day he was There.

Seriously, what are the odds?

Mama makes sure he has a bowl of cereal and a piece of toast.  Even that makes him feel sick.  That Last Day, he’d had to sit and watch Him eat breakfast. Then clean up.  And act like nothing was wrong at all.

When everything was.

He’s not supposed to help bring anything out to the SUVs, and he’s not supposed to help clean anything up, but they need him out of the way so they can put things away.  He sits on the couch feeling tired. Numb.  Sad.  He stares at the yellow scarf around his neck feeling Pearl’s absence more than anything else.

The scarf smells like her.  This isn’t fair.

Everybody’s making rounds with bags he’s not supposed to see, but that he knows are there anyway.  Level 1 is good for that.  Frankie’s sleeping on the couch next to him.  She was awake, but couldn’t maintain.  It’s too early for her.  It makes him nervous that Moms dressed her in travel clothes before putting her to bed.  

It makes him think of leaving in a hurry.

“Jesus.  Hey.  Somebody’s here for you,” Mariana says.

He turns, blinking in surprise.

“Pearl?  What are you doing here?”

“I promised you wouldn’t have to think about food today,” she says, handing him a big lunch bag.  “If there’s room in your backpack, you can put this in there.  Keep it with you.  The stuff in here is for you to eat,” she drops her voice.  “I want you to.  Okay?  You don’t need to save this.”

“I ate breakfast already,” he offers, feeling stunned.  

“I know you keep to a pretty regular schedule though, so I know in a couple hours, you’re gonna feel like you should eat again.  This way, you can.”

“Thank you.  Really, you have no idea…” he starts.

“Yes, I do,” she interjects.

“Okay, my babies, let’s get a move on.  We’ve got a flight to catch,” Stef announces.  “Pearl, so good to see you.”

Pearl stands and extends a hand.  Stef blinks, but takes the hint.  Shakes it.

Jesus stands, too, awkwardly.  “One more hug?” he asks, when no one’s looking.

Resolutely, Pearl opens her arms. She holds onto him, even reaching up to cradle the back of his head in her hand.  She shifts a little, back and forth, with him.  “You are not alone,” she whispers fiercely.  “I promise you. And I keep my promises.  Okay?  You can do this.”

Jesus pulls back.  Can’t speak.  Just swallows.  Her face is a blur, but all his emotions are trapped inside.  He hopes she can see what he’s thinking.  Hopes it’s obvious on his face.

“Text me?” he all but begs.

“Yeah, I’ll send you our selfie.”

Jesus bends down to Gracie, who has been at Pearl’s side this entire time.  “Bye, girl.  Take care of Pearl, okay?”  He looks up.  “Can I give her a hug?”

“Of course,” Pearl nods.

Gently, he embraces Gracie, and whispers to her: “Thanks for coming to get me, girl.  Thanks for bringing me to her.”

“All right, bud, we’ve got to go. Say goodbye to Pearl for now.  I’m sure we’ll see her around,” Mama encourages.

“Bye,” he says softly.

“Bye, Jesus,” she responds.

He’s in the SUV, watching out the window as she walks back to her cabin.  It won’t be the same without her.  Because unlike Mama, Jesus isn’t so sure at all that he’ll ever see Pearl again.

–

Callie’s on duty as Jesus’s first traveling buddy.  She (and her British alter ego Mrs. Longbottom) are taking the job seriously.

“My dear, I want you to know that this snow simply does not agree with me,” she confides, in character.

“I bet you’re glad we’re going then,” he offers flatly.  It’s the best he can do, but given that they’re in a vehicle for a long time, it’s amazing he can talk at all.

His phone chimes with a text when they’ve been on the road half an hour.  Then another.  Then a third.

The first is the selfie he and Pearl took.  Underneath are the words:  _Because I promised_.

Next is a way close up shot of Gracie captioned,  _Gracie was jealous and wanted to send a selfie, too_.

And finally, there’s Pearl in her kitchen by her stove.  Just her wrist with his bracelet on it, whisking hot chocolate in a pan.  This one says:   _So not the same without you_  with a sad emoji.

He can’t text back.

Jesus is keenly aware when the clock reads 8:00.  Just like Pearl said, he does need to eat.  He’s had Pearl’s lunch bag clutched in his hand since he got it.  Now, he eases it open.  He finds the letter from her.  Reads it, and clears his throat, shoving it in his jeans pocket so it doesn’t get lost.  He takes out the top container, labeled  _breakfast_  and reads the little note, feeling a little more okay.

The breakfast cookies are so good, and those and the banana almost bring tears to his eyes.  He never had anything homemade There.  Nobody ever baked for him.  He never got fresh fruit.  God, he can taste the love in here.

But he still can’t text her back.

He drinks a bunch of water instead, hoping it’ll ease the massive lump in his throat.

–

Mom’s on airport duty as his person.  This time, he gets picked out for security screening.  He stands there.  He’s fine.  This is nothing.  But when it’s over, Jesus rushes for the bathroom and pukes.  (Everybody had just stood there and watched.  It never happened in front of people Then.  Only when he was at the hospital after.  It was the last thing that needed to happen before he could leave LA.  Maybe it’s the same now?)

He blinks back tears.  Thinks about texting Pearl.  About reaching out.  About words.  But he doesn’t have any.  Mom’s at the bathroom door, calling inside for him, so Jesus gets it together and walks out.

They still have a while to wait and Mom can see that he’s not okay.  Not really here.  Level 3-automatic-nothing.  It’s been awhile since this, but it’s been awhile since he’s been messed with, too, so…

“Jesus, listen to me.  You are not There.”  Mom says.

(She was right there this time and she didn’t stop it.)

“I know,” he says.  His words almost overlap the end of hers.  Answering on automatic is like that.  Has to be right away.  Has to make it clear that he heard.  That he’s fine.  That he’s normal.

She tries to talk him through getting grounded.  Through breathing.  Through focusing.  But that would draw attention.  That’s the opposite of fine.  Of okay.  Of normal.  And he gets that he’s not There, but Mom doesn’t understand that knowing that makes this so much worse.

Because it wasn’t supposed to happen again.

“Do you need to talk to Pearl, love?” Stef asks.

He shrugs.  He doesn’t need anything.  

“Listen to me.  I want you to call Pearl right now.  Talk to her.  Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he answers.  

He opens a text and sends her a phone emoji with a question mark.

In seconds, his phone is ringing.  The picture of the two of them is on screen.  He picked it to display with her name as soon as he got it.

“Jesus?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Talk to me,” she insists, wasting no time.  

Pearl sounds the same.  Exactly the same.  It helps.  Her voice grounds him, where the therapy techniques all failed, because he was so humiliated to need them.  To look weird.  But right now he just looks like everybody else.  He just looks like a kid on his phone.

“Security screening,” he admits lowly.

“Damn it,” she breathes.  “Are you okay?  Of course you’re not okay.  Listen.  I’m with you.  I’m not going anywhere.  How long ‘til your flight?”

“About another hour.  I don’t really know.”

“Okay.  You still have your food?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you eat your apple?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t you?  I’ll stay on the phone with you.”

“Talk to me?  Hearing your voice helps.”

“Oh.  Okay, well…  This morning, Gracie only decided to sniff  _most of_  the trees in the woods as opposed to all of them.  Small victories.”

Jesus digs out the apple.  Takes a bite.  It’s perfect and sweet.  Not bruised.  Not sick looking.  Just a nice regular piece of fruit.  Two in two hours.  He stares at it.

“I never got fruit There…” he admits, a little zoned out.

Pearl just breathes for a bit.  Then she says.  “Then it’s proof, right.  You’re not There.  You’re not okay, but you’re not There.  Make sure you finish it.  I’ll stay on the phone.”

Jesus does finish the apple.

And he feels a little bit more present.  “I got all the pics.”

“You did?  Which is your favorite?” she asks.

“Us,” he says, no hesitation.

“Yeah,” she echoes, and he can hear her smile.  “Mine, too.”


	38. Chapter 38

The flight back to LA is a blur.  

Jesus remembers texting Pearl an airplane emoji before they left.  Vaguely remembers her voice on the phone.  In the middle of the flight, Mariana starts talking to him about lunch.  It’s a good thing he has the food from Pearl right with him, otherwise this would be a total disaster.  

He eats the sandwich, the granola bar, the chips and the fruit.  Pockets the note that says he’s doing great.

He’s not.  He’s barely keeping it together.  

Jesus spends the rest of the flight staring at the seat in front of him.  Feeling out of it and blank.  He blocks Mom out totally.  A lot of help she was in the airport.  She’s probably still pissed at him and that’s why she didn’t do anything when the dude at the airport messed with him in front of everybody.

According to basically everybody Jesus is around now, people messing with you is not okay ever.  So why did everybody just stand there when it happened to him?  Maybe because it was right, what He said?

_You are nothing.  Say it_ , His voice commands in Jesus’s head.

_I am nothing_ , his own lips form the words, but Mom and Mariana are right here.  They’re not in his head with him.  They don’t know how much trouble he’s in right now psychologically.

It’s bad.

–

In no time, or forever, (Jesus isn’t sure about specifics) they’re in LA.  Off the plane.  At LAX.  

“I need the backpack,” he tells Mariana abruptly.

“I got it for you, remember?” Mariana says.  They’re at the carousel thing where people are shoving their way to the front to get their bags.  Suitcases.  So many of them are big enough to stick a kid in.

Jesus feels sick to his stomach.

He doesn’t ask for the backpack again.

–

After 3 PM, Pearl texts Jesus:

_OK?_

Instantly, she gets a picture back.  It’s a crowd of people.  The caption reads:   _Luggage trigger._

Pearl remembered hearing about this the day before with his therapist and his moms.  She’d tried not to listen too closely, wanting to respect his privacy, but he hadn’t gone into detail about it anyway.

She texts:  _Don’t look at that, look at your phone.  Look at the pictures I sent.  Want more?_

Jesus texts back: _I’m not OK._

Thinking fast, Pearl hits her phone’s camera button and records a short video.   _I’m here_ , she says, and then just looks into the camera for a while.  She wants him to feel like she’s there with him right now.

It’s not much, but it’s the best she can do.

–

Jesus has been obsessively watching the 10 second video Pearl sent.  Hooked his headphones up to his phone so no one else could hear her and watched it constantly, until…

“Jesus?  We need to go.  Walk with me, okay?”  Mom.

He falls into step, behind her, because she’s got bags.  He keeps watching Pearl’s video because it’s the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

When they get to the cars, he blinks, trying not to pass out as he sees all the bags being loaded in the trunk.  His brain rewinds back seven years.  Jesus tries to remember if he could see the bag in That Car when he first got in it - the one He ended up putting Jesus in.

No matter how hard he tries, Jesus can’t remember.  Maybe it was in the trunk, too?  

Mariana and Callie are urging him into the back seat.  Mama’s driving.  Everyone else is in the other car.  

“Mama?” Callie calls, sounding concerned and Jesus doesn’t know why.

Now, she’s here, at the back door of the car.  Talking to him.  “Hey, bud, I need you to sit in the seat, all right?”

It registers all of a sudden, that he’s folded in the small amount of floor space in back.  Next to the seat, but not in it.

“Callie, my love, will you drive?” Lena tosses the keys to Callie.  Jesus tracks them.  Hears her start the car.

“Sure,” Callie answers.  Not Mrs. Longbottom.

“Jesus, sit up here, love,” Lena coaxes, patting the seat.  “We’re going home, but we need to all be in a seat before Callie can go.”

Seconds tick by.  Jesus has to pee.  This sucks so bad.  He wants to get the hell away from LA but he can’t ride in plain sight here.

“Mariana?” Lena asks.

“Hey, Jesus?  I’m here.  I still have your backpack, like we talked about.  We’re going home.  All of us, okay?  You, too.  Will you sit next to me?”

Slowly, Jesus feels his body moving.  Against his will, he sits on the seat between Lena and Mariana.  His heart is about to beat out of his chest, but his body’s still.  Watching.  Waiting.

He hears a click.  Goes blank.

In the distance, he can hear piano music.  It sounds out of context.  It needs to be older music.  Nirvana on repeat probably.

Jesus is zoned out, but wide awake as the scenery speeds by around him.

It might be hours later, or not, when Jesus smells it: Burger King.  He tries to breathe.  But all he can smell is fast food.  Mariana’s talking to him but he can’t hear anything because of the rushing.  Because he’s been at Level 3 since the airport in Minnesota, but only now is he freaked out enough that he can’t make out what anyone is saying.

Mariana reaches for him, a paper napkin still in her hand, and he jerks away.  

On instinct, Jesus lunges for the door.   He needs to get away, but he can’t move.  The damn seatbelt!

Jesus can’t breathe.  He has to get out of here.  He’s got to keep trying.

_If you don’t see a weapon, you fight_.

–

It’s just after 7:00 when Pearl’s phone rings, showing an unfamiliar number.  But the area code makes her look twice.  It’s the same as Jesus’s.

“This is Pearl,” she answers.  Tone clipped.  Wary.  Gracie’s at her side, aware that her stress level just escalated.

In the background of the call, she can hear sounds of a struggle.  Distress.  A panicked voice, but no words she can discern.

“It’s Mariana, Jesus’s sister.  You need to Skype him right now.  Okay, please?  He’s really freaked out and we have a long way to go.  If we pull over or stop now, it’ll just take longer, and…”

Mariana’s still talking as Pearl sits down at her laptop and clicks Jesus’s name.  Then the video camera icon.

“I’m calling now,” she says succinctly, and hangs up on Mariana.

“You with me, girl?” Pearl asks Gracie.  “I’m going to need your help to stay calm.”

Obediently, Gracie rests her head in Pearl’s lap.

She takes a deep breath.  “Ready as I’m gonna be…” Pearl murmurs, just before Mariana’s face appears on screen.

“Please, can you talk to him?” she begs.

“Yeah.  Point me,” Pearl commands.

Jesus is pale and his eyes have a wild look Pearl hasn’t seen before.  He’s writhing in the seat, lunging for the car door, heedless of Lena, who’s sitting on the other side of him.

“Jesus?  Hey.  It’s Pearl,” she tries.  God, she’s nervous.  It’s devastating to see her friend so afraid.  “Listen, I know it sucks right now.  I know you’re scared.  But I am right here.  Look at me.”

It’s not working.  Jesus is still fighting to get out of the car.  Thank goodness that he hasn’t unbuckled himself, or they would be in real trouble.  Pearl takes a steadying breath.  What had he said?  Calm?  In control, but not controlling?

She pauses.  Closes her eyes.  Breathes again.  Then, focuses on lowering her tone.  On projecting a calm she doesn’t feel.  On being safety for him when he clearly feels anything but safe.

“Jesus.  Jesus.  Jesus, it’s Pearl.  Can you focus on me?”  For a while, she just keeps calling his name.  It feels like it takes forever for him to even realize she’s there on screen in front of him.  But she can see when it registers.

His eyes still shine with terror.  He can’t sit still.  But now at least, he knows she’s there.

“Listen to my voice, okay?  Look at my face.  I’m here.  Okay?  I’m your friend.  And that means I’m going to protect you, all right?”

“Time,” he gasps.

“What’s ‘time,’ Jesus?  Can you tell me?”  Pearl asks.  She hopes her ignorance of his shorthand will end up playing in her favor.  Having to explain something to her might slow him down enough to start registering that he is okay.

“Time,” he repeats, sending a desperate look her way.

“I hear you.  I do.  And I am with you.  Tell me about ‘time.’  Is it like in sports?”

He nods.

“You’re calling a timeout.  Is that right?”

“Yes.”  His voice is breathy.  Hoarse.  Not like him at all.

“Okay.  I understand.  I really do.  I know that riding in the car is ridiculously hard.  But do you remember the time you went with me to the grocery store?”

“Okay,” he says, nodding.  “Yeah.”

“You were there for me.  Right, and we held hands?  So I know I’m not there for you to hold hands with, but I want you to hold onto my voice.  Alright?  And you’ve got my scarf, I see.  Can you see it?”

–

A flash of yellow catches his attention.  The scarf in the color that didn’t exist There.  It’s the only new thing that is letting him know where he is, and when he is.  That it’s not Then.  That he’s not being taken from his family.  He’s with them right now.  

And Pearl’s here, too.

“I can’t do this,” he rasps.  

“Focus on me.  It’s after 7 PM here which means it’s got to be after 5:00 for you.  Did you have your tater tot hotdish?”

“My what?”

“Sorry it’s not warm.  Check your lunch bag.”

Jesus has to think about right now in order to find it.  Down on the floor of the car.  Mama picks it up and hands it to him.  Doesn’t want him getting hung up about it being down there.  

He opens it.  Finds a huge Tupperware in the bottom with the casserole from last night in it.  At the bottom of the bag, he notices, that she even packed silverware.  Not plastic.  Her actual fork and spoon from her own kitchen.

Her note says he is worth it.  There’s no way Jesus can take that in right now.  Can accept it as true.  For a while, he holds the fork, the closed container on his lap.

“You can eat that, Jesus.  This is exactly what it’s for.  I’ll be here.  I can do some other things if you don’t want me watching while you eat, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Cautiously, he opens the container, and sticks the fork in the middle of the hamburger, green beans and tater tots.  Takes a bite.

It even tastes good cold.

–

It takes a while, but Jesus eats the entire serving of hotdish.  Pearl had known he would.  Wanted him to feel full.

When he’s finished, Pearl clicks back to the main Skype screen and maximizes Jesus’s whole face so it fills her screen.

“You doing okay?” she asks.  Pearl tries not to think about how awkward it is that she’s been having such an intimate conversation with Jesus while Lena, Mariana and whoever is driving can all hear her.  They are not who matter right now.  Jesus is who matters.

He shakes his head.  “I really wanna get out,” he manages.

“We are approximately five minutes from our destination, 2330 Villa Mariposa, in the lovely city of San Diego.”  This voice sounds like it comes from an elderly English woman.  

Pearl squints at Jesus, “ _Who is_  driving right now?” she insists.

“Mrs. Longbottom…” he mutters, cracking a smile.

“Do I want to know?” Pearl asks, opening one eye to peek at Jesus in mock fright.

He aims his camera in the direction of the driver’s seat.  Pearl can easily see Callie’s eyes in the rearview mirror.  “Pearl, my dear, you look simply lovely…” Callie insists, her accent a dead ringer for this whole other persona.

“Hi…Mrs. Longbottom…” Pearl offers weakly.  

When Jesus is on the screen again, she can see him taking slow, deep breaths.

“That’s awesome.  You’ve so got this.  You’ve got Lena and Mariana with you.  You’ve got an amazing chauffeur…”

“And you,” he manages, voice rough.  “I’ve got you, right?”

“Yes.  You always have me.”


	39. Chapter 39

Jesus doubted he had ever felt so relieved to be home as he did on Sunday night.  To be in his own space, with stuff the way he needed it?  Just walking into his room made him feel all overwhelmed.  Truth was, he was still super out of it.  The car ride from hell had totally spent his energy, and he crashed as soon as he possibly could.

Monday morning, first thing, he’s in Dr. H’s office, in person.  He still doesn’t feel like himself.  He still has a ton of excess energy going and has a hard time sitting down, because sitting down means they’ll actually have to talk about everything.

Dr. H. is patient and gives him a bunch of options for where to sit, like she always does.  When he sits on the floor, she sits there, too, across from him.

She has him get grounded and breathe.  It’s different because he can’t press his feet down.  Instead she has him feel the carpet under his hands.  Study it.  Tell her about it.  How it feels.  What color it is.  Then, she asks him if he’s ready to look at her.

Jesus does.  Doesn’t check in with himself at all, to see if he actually is ready.  Just makes himself do it.  

“How are you feeling right now?  Can you tell me?”

“Fine.”

“Tell me about fine, Jesus.  What makes you fine?”

“Not upset.”

“I see.  We touched base quite a few times during the past week.  It sounds to me like you have every reason to be upset.  What do you think?”

Jesus shrugs.  Wraps his arms around raised knees.  Laces his fingers together, so he’s holding his own hands.  He’s down a bracelet.  Can see the scars from chains there.

“I need to hear you, Jesus, because speaking out loud helps you stay present.  What are you unsure of right now?  When I asked whether you thought you were entitled to feel upset, you shrugged.  Do you know why?”

“I guess.”

“Why is that?” Dr. H. prompts, reaching behind her for a bottle of purple glitter which she sets between them.

Jesus ignores it.  He feels so numb.  So empty.  So not human.  He’d thought coming home would fix all that, but it didn’t.  He’s still lost in his head ever since that dude at the airport. And the bags in the car.  And everything before that, too.  It’s too much to take.  Better to shut it all down.

Dr. H. offers him a bottle of water.  A blanket.  To sit in an actual chair.

Jesus shakes his head.

“I’m feeling concerned, Jesus,” Dr. H. tells him.

He meets her eyes.  (Good.  She should be concerned.  He is all messed up and if she can’t help him then Jesus doesn’t know what that’s gonna mean for him.)

“Okay,” he tells her flatly.

“I’d like you to stand up when you’re ready, and choose a chair or the couch to sit on.  I’d like you to bring the blanket with you.”

Slowly, Jesus stands up, bending down to pick up the blanket.  He sits in the chair he usually occupies.  The blanket’s balled in his hands.

They go through grounding and breathing again.  But Jesus is restless.  The last thing he wants to do is feel his body right now.

“I can see you’re struggling right now,” Dr. H. offers sympathetically.  “I know traveling is very difficult for you.  Do you want to share with me anything in particular you found hard?”

_Feeling human_.  Jesus says it in his head, no sweat.  But saying it out loud?  It’s like all his words are blocked off.

She hands him paper.  Markers.  Pencils.  Pens.  He pulls the paper closer and picks out a pencil.  Loses himself in sketching.  When he’s done, Jesus takes it all in:  LAX dominates the page with the airport security dude inside.  He’s not obvious.  But Jesus knows he’s there.  The plane is in another section.  The bags going around on the luggage conveyer.  The car in another section.  At the very bottom, from the back, there Jesus is.  He’s small.  Like in one of those Where’s Waldo books, except he’s basically a nondescript nobody from the back.

Jesus pushes the sketch toward Dr. H.

“May I pick this up?  Look at it?”

Jesus nods.

She does and takes her time studying it.  After several minutes, she asks if they can talk about what she sees in the picture.

He nods again.

“Talk to me about LAX,” Dr. H. begins.

“I didn’t like it.”

“What specifically, Jesus?  Can you name one thing?”

“That it’s in LA.”

“That makes sense.  Have you been back there since?”

He clears his throat.  Shakes his head no.

“I can see why that would be very difficult.  Do you want to talk any more about LA?”

“No.”

“Okay.  I respect that.  Can you tell another thing you found difficult?”

“Luggage.”

“Yes, I can imagine.  I remember from our previous conversations that it’s triggering for you.  How did you cope with seeing the luggage?”

“Pearl.”  Dr. H. waits.  So eventually, Jesus can say more.  “She texted and like sent a video.  So I could have something else to focus on.  But then the luggage was in the car.  And I had to be in it.”

“Sounds very disconcerting.”

Jesus nods absently.  “I freaked out.  Felt like it was happening again.  That He was taking me away in That Car.  Pearl helped again, but I still don’t feel safe.”

“First, you are safe here, Jesus.  You’re safe with me.  And when we’re done, Lena is going to be here to pick you up and take you home again.  Tell me about how Pearl helped.”

“She talked to me.”

“What kinds of things did she say?”

“Just that she understood, I think?”

“That sounds like it would be very affirming.  It helps to have friends who can relate to what you’re going through.”

“How did you do in the car this morning?  On the way here?”

“Okay.  There weren’t any bags.”

Dr. H. and Jesus talk a little longer, but it had taken him so long to sit, and to start to open up that they really didn’t have much time to discuss stuff at all.  They don’t talk about the dude at airport security.  Not about his giant backpack full of food, or the feeling that he still needs it, on some deep level, even though he has access to food way easier at home.  They don’t talk about Isaac or grief.

It’s how Jesus wants it.  He’s not ready for all that stuff to come up yet.  He can barely deal with talking about riding in the car with the luggage without feeling like he’s riding in the car  _in_  the luggage.

Before he leaves, Jesus crumples up the drawing.  Then rips it into tiny pieces.  He doesn’t want Dr. H. analyzing it while he’s gone and picking out the dude at the airport or any of the rest.  She says he has the right to have a say over what happens to his work in here.  It helps, a little, to remember he has rights.

Mama’s there to pick him up.  Frankie’s already at preschool, so it’s just the two of them.  Brandon’s piano music is playing and Jesus is just kinda looking out the window, trying not to think.  Because if he thinks, then he’s gonna feel sick or panicky or something.

–

Pearl has been up since 3 AM.  She barely slept after seeing Jesus in such a state last night.  Since it’s obviously bad manners to text someone in the middle of the night, Pearl does her best to hold off.  First, she tries to calm her racing heart.  Her swerving thoughts.

She needs to do something, but journaling just feels too real right now.  So Pearl settles for an intermediate step, of sorts.  She pulls out notebook paper, and writes a letter to Jesus, trying to channel her zillions of questions and concerns into reassurance that he can hold in his hand:

_Monday January 5, 2015_

_Jesus,_

_I wanted to be sure you know that it’s okay.  What happened in the car.  Calling me.  All of it.  I know it probably feels everything BUT okay, but it is, I promise._

_I hope getting home has helped cement that you’re safe.  If you need me, please let me know however you can:  by letter (Old-People style), text, call, Skype, whatever.  I just want to be here.  I want to know that you are okay.  And especially if you’re not okay._

_I want you to know that what I saw last night doesn’t change anything.  It doesn’t make me feel differently about you.  Vulnerability is not the same as weakness.  Trauma is not a character flaw.  You are still my favorite person to drink hot chocolate with.  To hang out here with.  To just be with._

_Trust your instincts and try with everything you have not to shut down.  I know it’s so tempting especially after your awful trip home, but I have confidence in you.  You are capable of so much.  You are worth so much.  Please believe me._

_If you need ANYTHING at all, please let me know, and I will do my best to help._

_Love, Pearl_

Before she seals the envelope, Pearl tucks in a piece of dark chocolate and raspberry Ghirardelli, still wrapped.  She figures nothing will speak to Jesus’s sense of self worth quite as deeply as food will.  She labels the chocolate with a piece of masking tape on the back and the words:  _Eat Me, Jesus_.  Pearl hopes it won’t melt in the California heat.

Pearl hasn’t gotten in touch with Pav or Char in what seems like forever.  She misses them, but she also feels too raw to really talk.  Especially because a lot of what she would want to discuss has to do with Jesus, and she is in no place to talk about his business with her friends.

So, she talks about him while she knits, knowing Gracie’s here, and always listening:

“I really miss him, girl.  And I barely slept last night so I’m all emotionally unstable today.  It’s just–  You’re never ready to see a friend like that, are you?  I don’t want him to feel badly about it, which is why I wrote the letter, but I hope, in the meantime, he’s doing okay.”

Gracie cocks her head a little, as if to say,  _Are_ you  _doing okay_?

“Okay, what’s with the attitude?  I gave you an egg this morning.”

Gracie licks her hand.

Pearl sighs.  “Obviously, I’m not okay.  The first person I let close to me in years is gone and I have no friends.  Plus, he’s struggling and, like it or not, that means I’m struggling more, too.  I want to be okay for him.  I want to be okay for me.  But I don’t know if I can do it alone…”

Just then, her gaze falls on her own wrist.  On the bracelet Jesus had given her.  She’s not alone at all.  That’s right.

She texts Jesus:

_How are you?_

Pearl gets lost in knitting.  In walking Gracie.  In having lunch.  And before she knows it, two hours have passed since she sent the text to Jesus.

No response.  And it’s definitely late enough that he should have received it.  Unless he’s sleeping in, which could be.  He’s probably exhausted enough.

She takes a slow deep breath like his therapist always had him doing.  Goes over to the swing and tries to relax.  She’s not gonna freak out about how he’s doing until she has a reason to.

Gracie’s here, as always, a steadying presence and a reminder that she does need to take care of herself first.  If she doesn’t take care of herself, she won’t be able to be there for Jesus at all.

Pearl closes her eyes.  Imagines her letter bridging the distance between them.  She tries not to think of Frank’s cabin, standing empty now, next door.


	40. Chapter 40

When Jesus gets home from therapy, the first thing he does is look for his backpack.  

Moms and the rest of the fam have been good about keeping all the other luggage in the bedrooms.  But his backpack’s not luggage.  And more importantly, it’s not in his room.

Mariana had it last.  He sends her a text:

_Backpack?_

He sees the text from Pearl there.  He’ll get to it.  He just needs to find out where his damn bag is first.  Not only is the food in there, but so is his blanket.  So are his headphones.

She texts back right away, even though she’s in school.  She always texts him right back.  He imagines her hiding her phone under the desk.  Not getting caught:

_Laundry basket outside your room._

Jesus pokes his head out into the hall, feeling all the beads around him.  Eventually, he goes out all the way and pulls the laundry basket out where it sits underneath the little table outside his door.

Empty.

He texts her a pic and a row of question marks and exclamation points.  Because seriously?

“Everything okay?” Mama calls.  She’s used to staying close and pretty plugged in after therapy.  Especially because his state lately hasn’t been the greatest.

“Yeah…just….  Have you seen my backpack?  Mariana said she left it here in the basket.”

Mama steps closer and Jesus tries to breathe.  He’d come out of automatic for like two seconds to text Mariana, and now he’s right back in it.  

“Jesus, let’s talk.”

“You can just tell me,” he offers like it’s no big deal.  

“Your backpack’s going through the wash.  Your blanket, too.  The food you had in there was going bad.  You can’t just let that stuff rot in there, babe.  It’s not healthy.”

“Sorry,” he says, because it seems right.

“It’s all right.  You’re home now, and there’s water in your fridge and you have food available in all your usual spots that you can have anytime.  Okay?  Are you okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees.

“I’ll get your bag back to you as soon as it’s washed and dried.  Your blanket, too.  I wiped your headphones down.  Those should be okay. They’re in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Of course, honey.  You take it easy this morning, okay?  I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Obediently, Jesus steps back into his room.  It feels so empty without his backpack.  Without his blanket.  In a few minutes, Mama drops his headphones off on the table outside his door.

He doesn’t even get up for them.  

Inside, he feels totally numb.  Totally empty.  Jesus shakes his head.  He should be glad this is all that’s happening.  Hoarding food would have gotten him in so much trouble Then.  He should be grateful that Mama’s only thrown the food away and taken his stuff to the one place in the house he just can’t go.  Jesus’s laundry trigger is something he hasn’t needed to come face to face with here, because it’s off of Moms’ bedroom, and he has never felt comfortable in there since he got back.  So what if he can’t sit right there and watch to see how many minutes left his blanket has, his backpack has?

So what if he feels so much fear it’s like he’s gonna die from it?  From the seriously real feeling that he’s gonna starve to death, mixed with the feeling that he just lost Isaac all over again, because all that food disappeared?

The panic is there, but it’s buried deep.  He tries to breathe.  Opens his texts.  Sees the one from Pearl.  Tries to text back.  A million words.  But none come.

He Skypes her right then.  Needs to see her face.  Hear her voice.  Even if she won’t hear his.

She answers right away - her face filling the screen of his phone and it’s kinda like she’s right here, except she’s totally not.

“Jesus?  What’s wrong?” she asks.

He just looks at her, feeling dead inside.  Hopeless. Gone.  Like the food dumped in the trash like it didn’t even matter.  His family never messed with his food.  Never touched it.  Jesus never had to worry about that.  He sighs.  Apparently, he has to worry now.

Pearl waits, just looking into his eyes.  It’s the longest he’s been able to hold eye contact in about a day.  Even at therapy, he couldn’t bring himself to hold Dr. H’s gaze.  He’s dealing with so much shame.  But Pearl gets that. She knows.  She won’t judge him for the dude messing with him at the airport.

“Can you show me?” she asks eventually, like she has all the time in the world.

He gets up with his phone, keeping it pointed at his face until he gets to the hall.  Then he snags the empty laundry basket with his foot and nudges it out in the open.  Aims the camera there.

On the way back in, he grabs his headphones, preferring to talk to Pearl so Mama can’t overhear, at least her end of the conversation.

“Something was supposed to be in that basket,” Pearl says, once he plugs in.

He nods.  Wishes he could just show her somehow, but he can’t go in Moms’ damn room.  Jesus tries to say something but just ends up breathing heavy.

This is getting stupid.  He just needs to say it.  It doesn’t matter.  It’s not that big of a deal.  Jesus is fine.  “My backpack.”

“With the food in it?” Pearl checks.

“Yeah.  It’s in the wash with my blanket…and Lena threw the food out while I was gone at therapy.  Didn’t even ask.”

Pearl’s eyes flash with something like rage.  “Why the hell…?”

“It’s okay.  I just wasn’t ready.”

“Of course not.  It was yours.  It was important to you,” Pearl insists.  “What do you need?  How can I help?”

“Nothing.  I’m fine.  Just…not…you know?”

“Do you have your scarf?” she asks.

“Yeah.  I’m wearing it…kinda like a belt…I like the fringe.”

“Oh.  Well, I’m glad I added that part,” she tries to smile.

“I can go,” he offers.

“Do you want to?”

“I  _can_ …” he repeats.

“I hear you.  Do you hear  _me_?  If you’re done talking and you want to go, I want that for you.  But if you want to stay with me, we can do that, too.”

“Choose  _for_  me.”

Pearl squints.  “I can’t do that, Jesus.  But you can.  You’re free to make whatever choice you want.  Either one is okay.”

“I’ll go. I’m probably too much.”

“Listen to me.  You are not too much.  But if you would like to go, I won’t keep you here.”

Jesus sighs.  How hard is it for her to just pick?  If he had his choice, he’d sit and just stare at her face all day on Skype.  Because without Mariana here…without Frankie…he feels like the only one.  And he feels like nothing.

And nothing doesn’t get choices.

“If I sent you something in the mail…like a package…would that be okay?” Pearl checks.

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends, and sometimes friends send each other stuff.  But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“No, I do…  It’s just…  I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“It’s a gift, Jesus.  You don’t earn gifts.”

“I do.  I have to earn everything,” he says seriously.  They’re new friends, so maybe she really doesn’t know this yet.  “To prove I deserve it and that I’m grateful.”

“According to whom?”

“Just the way it is,” Jesus shrugs.

“No, it’s not, Jesus.  Not with us.  You don’t have to do anything to deserve a gift from me.  You don’t even have to be grateful.  I mean, obviously, I’d send it because I’d hope you liked it, but it’s never so I’ll get something in return. You never have to prove your worth to me.”

“You’re confusing.”

“Am I?”

“I feel out of it.  I can’t consent if I’m out of it,” he remembers vaguely.

“That is true.  Do you trust me, though?  That I would never send you something that would hurt you?”

“You know what it’s like…so you wouldn’t do anything bad to me, probably, right?”

“Right.  I would not do anything bad to you.  Listen, do you wanna come with me while I go get it?”

“Do I have a choice?” Jesus asks, still a little blank.

“Absolutely.  You can say yes.  You can say no.  You can change your mind.”

“Okay.  I want to.”

“Let me switch to my phone.  I’ll call you right back.”

–

Pearl makes quick work of getting her coat, hat and gloves.  The fact that she’s going to willingly subject herself to the SuperOne again feels more doable when it means doing something that can help Jesus.

She sends him a string of text messages with corresponding pictures:

_Getting Gracie ready._

_In the car._

_Skype you when I’m there._

Gracie’s her sidekick, who keeps sticking her face up between the seats to check on her, or lick Pearl’s face.  It makes driving possible, even if it’s still terrifying.  At least it’s daylight.  And still winter.  Nighttime in spring, though, and Pearl knows she could not make this drive.

Once she gets out of the car, and she and Gracie are across the parking lot and in the store, she Skypes Jesus again:

“Okay, I’m here.”

On screen, he blinks, confused.  “Where is that?”

“My own personal hell,” she confides.  But Gracie’s here, aren’t you?” she asks, making Gracie glance up at the phone and smile a doggy smile.

“Aw, hey Gracie.”  For the first time since Pearl’s seen Jesus today, a tiny grin appears on his face.  “Wait. Why are you in hell?”

“Just for one thing.  Wait.  First. Do you want to know what it is?  Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

Jesus bites his lip.  “Surprise.  I think.  As long as it’s not bad.”  
  


“I wouldn’t send you a bad surprise.  We’re friends.  All right, here we go.  As far away from Gladys as possible…”

“Wait.  Hell is SuperOne?!” Jesus asks.  His alarm is almost comical, as he hurries to wind the scarf around his mouth and nose.  “I don’t want people recognizing me.”

“I’ll be discreet. I won’t use your name.  And it’s not busy in here at all.  Monday after a holiday?  Everybody’s back to work and school.”

“Okay,” he nods.

Pearl knows what she came here for and goes right to the correct aisle, praying they didn’t decide to move things around.  She finds the snack cakes easily, and picks up a box of Hostess chocolate cupcakes.

“Mission accomplished,” she says.  “But God, I wish this place had self-checkout.”

“You don’t have to get me anything,” Jesus says, his words muffled behind the scarf.

“I know I don’t.  That’s why it’s called a gift.  Just these,” she tells the young female cashier.

Pearl gets back in the car with her box of cupcakes for Jesus.  Her letter for him on the front seat. “I just have to stop at the post office, so I’ll call again when I’m back home.”  (The last thing Pearl wants is Jesus freaking out when he hears her spending $25 to send him this box via next day delivery.)

The drive to the post office takes a while, because nothing around here is local.  And Pearl’s undeniably having a harder time now than she was earlier.  The hand tremors. The panic-sweat.  The racing thoughts.  Gracie keeps Pearl focused, and Jesus needing this pushes Pearl forward.

She and Gracie walk into the post office together.  Thankfully, this isn’t crowded either.  She picks out a flat rate box, and sticks the cupcakes inside.  Thinking better of it, she takes the permanent marker out of her pocket and scrawls on the outside of the cupcake box:

_Property of Jesus Foster.  Do not throw away._

Pearl would usually enclose another note, specifically about the food, but this is self-explanatory.  She knows that Jesus didn’t just lose a backpack full of food.  He lost an important tie to Isaac, the boy he tried so hard to save.

He couldn’t save Isaac.  Or the other food.  But Pearl is going to make damn sure that he can save these.


	41. Chapter 41

While Jesus is waiting for Pearl to call back, the worst thing happens:

He’s pacing the hall, going as close to Moms’ room as he dares, and then walking back the other way.  Frankie’s joined him, too.  Walking beside him, and talking about learning about seasons in preschool.

“Winter is a picture of some snow and I  _do not like that_.  Right, Jesus?  Are you so glad California doesn’t got snow?”

“I am,” he nods.

“What are we doing?” she wants to know.

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“The laundry.”

“For  _underwear_?” Frankie wrinkles her nose.

“Does laundry mean underwear?” he asks, still distant.

“Yeah!” Frankie giggles.  “Hilarious, huh?”

Jesus doesn’t say anything back.  He’s glad to see his little sis back to her usual self, but he wonders when someone will notice that  _he’s_  not back?  That a part of him is back in Minnesota?  And LA?  And There?

“Here you go, honey,” Lena says, walking out of the bedroom, the backpack and his blanket in her hands.  

“No fair.  How come Night-Night didn’t get to get washed in the dryer?!” Frankie’s seriously offended, but Jesus isn’t even listening.  His eyes are locked on the bag - empty.

He takes it in his hands.  It feels super light.  Makes him feel like passing out.  Because he’s remembering another bag…not light at all.  And that bag in the hole Jesus dug.  And dirt shoveled on it.

Wordless, Jesus goes back to his room.  He makes sure his laptop is off.  His phone.  He doesn’t want to talk to anybody.  Who can he trust and who can really help him anyway?   

Jesus crashes in his blankets, wrapping the yellow one around his head and face.  It smells clean and that feels wrong somehow.  All the stuff he’s been through lately, and the blanket with him.  Now it’s like all the life got washed out.  All the experiences never happened.

That’s probably what Moms want.  Everything to be normal and okay.  For him not to be this messed up kid.  He falls asleep because he can’t stay awake anymore.  Because of the bag and the blanket and of everything being gone.

Especially Isaac.  And especially him.

–

Jesus sleeps through lunch and stays still even after that, so Lena won’t try to make him eat anything.  He found a rubberband somewhere.  Put it on where this missing bracelet was.  He keeps snapping it because it’s a good distraction from the deep hole it feels like he’s in.  It’s a figurative hole, only, not a literal one.  Jesus never forgets that he could be in a real one right now.  But he’s not.  The snapping barely hurts at all.

He listens for a minute.  No sign of Mama or Frankie.  He goes into the girls’ room, because they’re not in there, and he needs something.  He finds it on Mariana’s desk: scissors.

Jesus leaves the room just like he found it, and then slips into the bathroom with his bag.  He locks both doors and sits on the floor against one.  

The fabric of the backpack is too strong for him to rip with just his hands because he’s weak and a dumbass, and he needs to destroy this stupid thing.  Methodically, he slashes it.  He mangles the hell out of it because it needs to not even exist anymore.

It’s takes work, and time, but Jesus has time.  It doesn’t take long for Jesus to realize that the scissors aren’t really destroying this as much as he needs it to be.  He gets up.  Goes to the girls’ room first to put back the scissors.  Thinks about going to Jude and Brandon’s room - Jude has a pocket knife - but the idea of going in there is too much right now.

Instead, he heads downstairs, leaving the bag under the blankets in his room.  A quick glance out the back door, and Jesus can see Mama out there with Frankie, playing.  Mama’s really big on them getting fresh air, and being able to run around and be kids.

And it’s ideal for him, because it means no one’s got their eye on the knife block in the kitchen.

One’s missing and he checks the dishwasher.  Sees it right away.  Mama would notice if another knife disappeared but she already knows she used one and will still think it’s in the dishwasher.  Jesus wipes it off with his shirt and slides it in the front pocket of his hoodie.

Holding a knife makes him feel strong.  Powerful.  He needed one in that airport.  And pretty much everywhere lately, and especially There.  He uncovers the slashed up bag and does an even better job of it with a better tool.

When it’s so wrecked it couldn’t possibly hold anything ever again, Jesus ties it in a plastic Target bag and brings that out to the big trash in the garage.  He opens the lid and leans down, looking close, even though the smell is one of the rankest he’s ever smelled.

Is this where Lena threw away all his food?

Whatever.  Jesus makes himself not care.  Tosses the ruined backpack in the can and lets the lid fall closed.

He walks around the house to the back yard where he sits on the grass and watches Frankie swing.

“Jesus, did you eat something, bud?” Lena asks.

Anger bubbles up inside but Jesus breathes it back in.  He knows she doesn’t give a damn if he can eat or not.  She just got rid of all his food without even talking to him first.  But he lies because he doesn’t have the energy to even care.

“Yeah, I ate.”

His hand goes to the front pocket of his hoodie.  If Lena sees it, she’ll assume it’s him guarding food he put there.  It’s not, though.  Because he can’t bring himself to put the knife back.  It feels good to have it on him.  To protect himself.  Because without Pearl, Jesus can’t trust anybody here to protect him.

Mom and Mama proved that at the airport.  He still has Mariana who he can trust, but it’s not her job to keep him safe.  She’s not an adult.  Jesus can’t keep putting his crap on her.

In the back of his mind, he thinks about Pearl.  She had said she’d call him back but Jesus waited like half an hour and nothing.  It’s no big deal.  He needs to stop relying on her, anyway.  If she’s not physically here, it’s not like she can do anything to help him or keep him safe.

After a while, Jesus stands up and walks to the fence in back.  It’s not wood like There.  It’s chainlink.  He sits down against it.  Puts his hand in his pocket.  Feels the handle of the knife.  Proof that he’s okay.

Jesus has no idea how long he sits there, before he sees Lena coming through the trees.  “You okay?”

“Fine.  Where’s Frankie?”

“The kids are home from school.  She’s inside with them.  Anything you need?  Anything I should know?”

“No.  I’m just tired.”

“Well, come inside.  You can rest there.  I don’t want you out here alone.”

Jesus stands up and follows her into the house.  It’s loud with people and electronics.  It’s the way Jesus is used to it being.  Then.

If Moms want their life to be cleaned up and okay, he can be that.  He’s had years of practice.  That was the threat over his head for all those years after all.  Be normal.  Blend in.  And it had worked.  For four years, it had worked.  It was so much worse There.  It’s probably the least he can do here.  For them putting up with him and all his trauma crap.  He’s great at this.

Moms will be so happy to have him be a regular kid.

(He thinks about putting the knife back.  Can’t.)

–

Pearl’s wondering just how Jesus has managed to fall off the face of the earth in no time flat.  One minute she’s telling him she’ll call him back and the next, he’s not signed into Skype and all her calls go straight to voicemail.

“Hey.  You’ve reached Jesus Foster.  You know what to do.”

She’s tried not leaving a message.  She’s left messages.  By phone.  By Skype.  By Email.  She doesn’t care if she’s being annoying.  He had not been okay when he called her.  Chances are, he’s not okay now.

Her Skype chimes and Pearl lunges for it.

“Oh,” she says, beyond disappointed that it’s not Jesus.  It’s Pav.  They haven’t talked in awhile.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she smiles.  “Just checkin’ in.  Your company gone?”

“Yes, and one of them seems to have vanished.”

“Aw, you miss him.”

“Platonically.  I miss him platonically, yes.”

“Do you get how big that is, Pearl?  You able to let somebody in?  In your space?  To wanna keep in touch after they’re gone?”

“Yeah, I get it.  It’s fantastic.  Whatever.  I just…didn’t expect him to shut me out.”

“Are you sure he _is_?” Pav asks.  

“No, but what other explanation could there be?  …Oh God.”

“What?  Now don’t go winding yourself up.  Talk to me.”

“I disclosed.”

Pav waits, listening intently.  “And you think that’s why that little boy ain’t texting you back now?”

“Yes.  How is that unreasonable to assume?”

“It ain’t,” Pav says calmly.

“You think it was a bad call.  I shouldn’t have said anything.  You’re right.  He’s basically a kid.  What kid wants to know that the next door neighbor on his vacation got raped all night?” Pearl exclaims.  There are tears in her eyes.

“I think…maybe we don’t go readin’ into things…not until we know for sure?”

“What?  That we had a very sudden friend-breakup?  With absolutely no warning?”  Tears are rolling now.  God.  And Gracie’s on high alert.

“Hey.  I’m right here,” Pav offers.

“But you’re  _not_ …and he  _was_ …and I ruined it.”

“Take it easy.  Listen to me.  How did he seem when you last spoke?”

“Not great.”

“About you or something else?”

“Something else,” Pearl admits, feeling marginally better.

“Okay then.  Remember that.  He’s probably dealing with all kinds of things bein’ back home now.  It might just take him a minute to figure out how to fit you into all that.”

“Thank you…” Pearl sniffs into the Kleenex she’s holding.  “For talking me off that ledge.”

“It’s what we do.” Pav says simply.

“How are you doing?” Pearl wonders.

“Actually not bad, which is why I called to see why it’s been days since I heard from you, but now I think I know why.  Your friend, he just left yesterday, right?”

Pearl sighs.  “He did.  And I never thought I’d feel as lonely as I do right now.”

–

At supper, Jesus sits at the table with everybody else.  He makes small talk.  He eats the way they do.  Not too fast.  He doesn’t smuggle anything away from the table.  He takes his plate to the sink before Frankie shrieks, “Red light!” at him and then begs him to come play Legos with her.

She’s still obsessed with the idea of bad guys, so they make a jail and put the bad guy inside.  It has a floor and four walls.  They even put a piece over the top so there’s no way he can get out.  It’s how Jesus felt Then.  Feels Now.  

It doesn’t feel any different.

Jesus hears the dishwasher turn on (with one less knife inside.)  Just like he thought, nobody missed it.  They might in a day or two, but not right now.  They don’t need to worry.  It’s not like he’s gonna pull a knife on Jude or Frankie or anybody else.  It’s just for him.  

At 7:30, it’s Porch Time and Jesus feels betrayal rising in him strong and fast.  Why should Moms even do this?  They wanna sit and talk about how he is but they don’t wanna actually do anything to protect him.

Still, he swallows the feelings.  Makes himself go out there.  Wait.  Like usual.  Like nothing’s wrong.  Because nothing is.

“Hey, love.  Let’s talk,” Mom greets, sitting down beside him, like she’s so happy.

“About what?”

“Whatever you want,” Mom encourages.

“You seemed quiet today.  Are you sure you’re okay?”  Mama asks but she doesn’t wait for him to answer.  “I know it was probably very hard to not find your bag where you left it.  But this was a safety thing, Jesus.  To have rotting food in the house?  That’s not safe.  Getting rid of that food and washing your bag and your blanket was a part of keeping you safe.  I need you to understand that.”

“I do,” he says, looking her in the eyes.  “It makes sense.”

“I want you to know that we do respect you and we respect your boundaries.  Okay?” Mom reminds.  “You’re very important to us and we want you to come to us if you need anything at all.”

He nods.  “Okay.  I will.”

“Is there anything you need right now?” Mom asks.

“I can’t think of anything,” Jesus responds, choosing his words super carefully.  A straight out ‘no’ would make them suspect something.  A ranting laundry list of crap would make them hate him again.

“Well, if you do, I want you to know you can always let us know.” Mom says.

“Okay,” Jesus nods.

They go inside early.  Jesus makes himself take a shower because it’s expected.  The water’s too hot but so what?  He’s still wearing the rubberband around his wrist.  Still has the knife wrapped in his shirt on the floor.

When he gets out, he leaves the water on.  Leaves the fan on.  Then rocks himself hard against the bathroom door for a while, just to kill the urge.

Just like he’s hoping, nobody comes to check.  Everybody’s downstairs.  And Frankie’s asleep.


	42. Chapter 42

Jesus comes out of the bathroom with the hoodie still on over his tee shirt.  It won’t raise any red flags.  It would be weirder if he came out without an extra layer on.  Then, they’d ask him what’s wrong.

Next, he walks the house with Mom - because it’s what she expects.  If he doesn’t come with her to lock up, she’ll worry.  So, he walks beside her, watching her methodically turn each lock, and check each window.

Usually, this feels like extra security.  To keep people like Him out.  This is the first time it’s felt like they’re keeping Jesus in.  It’s not hard to remember all the locks on His doors.  How just a few years back, Jesus and Isaac had brought His hacksaw with them upstairs to try and chop through the locks.  

But at the top of the stairs, they found Him instead:

_Do something!  This is your prisoner…_

_The hacksaw knocked out of his hands, landing across the room.  And Isaac…_

The memory goes dim at the edges. Jesus’s ears are full of a rushing sound that he knows means panic.  Isaac’s gone.  The food is gone.  

Jesus’s hand goes to cover his pocket.  The knife.  At least that’s still here.  

Mom’s mouth is moving, and Jesus shakes his head a little to clear it. Forces himself to listen.

“…okay, Jesus?”

“Yeah.  I’m okay,” he says.  “Just tired from the trip.”

“Well, you get some rest.”

“I will.”

–

Jesus is on his way up the stairs when he almost runs into Mariana.  

“Are you okay?” she stage-whispers.

“Yeah.  Why?”

“Because you were really freaked out in the car last night and we haven’t really talked since then and I was just wondering.”

“Well don’t.  I’m fine.”

She squints at him, and Jesus can tell she doesn’t buy it for a second.  But before she can say anything else, her phone chimes in her hand.  “Oh, and Pearl keeps texting me.  She’s worried about you, too.”

Mariana answers the chime, and before he knows what’s happening, Mariana’s talking to Pearl on Skype from her phone.  “Hey.  Yeah, he’s right here.”  She thrusts her phone at him.  “Talk to her.”

But he can’t.  He can’t talk because he can’t fake it with her.  He can’t really fake it with Mariana either, but he really can’t with Pearl.  She knows more than anyone in his family knows, and she knows more about what it feels like to be him.  

Jesus thinks about hanging up on her, but doesn’t.  She’d just call back, or get more worried and call Stef or Lena.  And then he’d be screwed.

“What?” he snaps, beyond irritated.  (Not good.  If he cares enough to be irritated all the other feelings are probably just hanging out waiting to explode out of him.)

“What is wrong?” she asks seriously.  “I need you to tell me.”  Her face is there.  She’s right there.  But not at all.  And that’s the whole problem.

“You said you’d call back,” he says, pissed off.

“And I  _did_  call you back.  Jesus, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours.”

He shrugs.  “Not my problem.”

“Listen, we’re gonna go to the swing,” she says, confusing the hell out of him.  Obviously he can’t swing if he’s here.  But in seconds, she’s in the swing, in the dark, but with the purple lights on in front of them.  They sway, because she is.

“I don’t need this.  I’m fine,” he insists, because looking at a curtain with lights in it definitely doesn’t qualify as normal behavior.

“Slow deep breath?” she asks.  “Just keep looking at the lights.  Breathe with me.  Please.  Can you?”

Jesus is offended.  Of course he can breathe.  And he’s basically a pro at following directions.  He watches the lights, breathing, and fighting the onslaught of feelings.

“Time,” he says so softly he’s sure she’ll miss it.

But just like that, her living room lights are back on.  They’re not in the swing, and the camera’s on Pearl’s face.  “Okay.  I respect that.  Because I respect you.  But I need you to stay with me.  Look at me.  Tell me what’s going on.  Take your time.  Keep breathing.”

Jesus tries.  But the feelings suck and he’s using one hand to hold the phone so he can’t snap the damn rubberband, and he can’t do anything with the knife either.  And he needs to.  He needs to do more.  He needs to feel something other than his crappy body and dumbass mind.

“Hey.  What’s your favorite thing to eat with me?” Pearl asks, kinda sudden.

“Drink.  Hot chocolate,” he answers, rocking hard against the wall.

“Do you have a chair in there?  In your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see?”

Jesus points Mariana’s phone from where he’s sitting on the floor.  It’s across the room.  

“Can we go closer?”

He stands up.  Walks over.  Keeps the phone so she can see the chair.

“Ooh.  Can you do me a favor and sit in it, so I can live vicariously through you?  It looks so comfortable.”

Numbly, he sits down.  When he rocks, so does the chair.  It helps some.  “I don’t have a swing.  Or lights.  Or a dog.”

“I know,” Pearl nods, sympathetic.  “What do you think about that?”

“I need them.  Like you.”

“Is the chair helping?  The rocking?  You seem like you can talk to me a little more.”

“Yeah.  A bit.”

“Good.  Slow deep breath?” she asks, and then repeats “again” a bunch of times, like a question.  With the rocking, it kinda helps him focus.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back as soon as you were expecting.  I should have mentioned that the post office isn’t close by.  Next time, I’ll be sure to give you a timeframe so you can know when to expect to hear from me.  Will that help?”

“Yes.  And it helps that you found me anyway.”

“Of course I found you, Jesus.  I want you to be safe. Are you?”

He thinks about the knife in his pocket.  The rubberband on his wrist.  Then: “Do friends lie?”

“Friends have the choice to lie or to tell the truth.”

“No….I mean….Do friends…  I can’t do this.”

Pearl just waits.  “We have time.  _I_  have time.  There’s no rush.  You can ask me anything you need to, and I’ll try my best to answer it for you.”

For a while, Jesus just rocks super hard, in the chair.  Tries to breathe.  To organize this thoughts.  All of a sudden, the words he needs are there:

“Do I have to lie…right now?” he asks.

“No.  You don’t have to lie right now.  Does that help to hear?”

“Kinda….” Jesus admits.  And then:  “I kinda feel like I do.”

“What does that mean, Jesus?”

“Because back Then, I had to lie to all my friends.”

–

The words make goosebumps rise on Pearl’s arms.  It speaks so much to Jesus’s state of mind.

Pearl takes a slow deep breath of her own and forces herself to speak deliberately to him.  Slower than she usually would.  “You are not there right now, Jesus.  You’re with me.  And you’re at home with your family.  You do not have to lie to me.  I want you to tell me the truth.  It’s safe to tell me the truth.”

“I’m not safe,” he whispers.

Pearl breathes.  (In control but not controlling.)  “I’m glad you told me.  Can you tell me anything else?  Why aren’t you safe?”

“Because I need it.”

“What do you need?  Can you tell me?  Or show me?”

Pearl doesn’t know what she expects to see, but Jesus producing a paring knife out of nowhere was not on her list of possibilities.  She catches sight of his arm as he holds it up.  The rubberband around his wrist.  How red and inflamed his skin looks there.

“Jesus?  It’s still safe to tell me the truth, okay?  Did you hurt yourself with that?”

He nods.  Pulls up his other sleeve. Takes off all the bracelets and shows her the proof.

Another deep breath. Gracie’s got her nose pressed into Pearl’s hand.  “Okay.  Thanks for showing me. I’m really sorry you’re hurt, Jesus.  Can you put the knife back where you got it?”

“I can’t load the dishwasher.”

“Then put it in the sink.  Take me with you.  Show me where you left it in the sink and then come back to the chair.”

Pearl tries not to hold her breath as he moves through the house.  He walks into the kitchen, and to her surprise, opens the dishwasher and sticks it in.  He lets her see it there, and then closes it up and leaves the kitchen.

“And I need you to get rid of that rubberband around your wrist,” Pearl says quietly.  “Throw it in the garbage.  You don’t need that hurting you either.”

Surprising her, he does take it off and throw it out.  He even shows her both the garbage can and his wrist, after the fact.

Once he is back in the chair in his room, he seems more clear.  And the story comes out in a quiet rush: Being back in LA and being screened by security while his family stood by and didn’t stop it.  Having to ride in a car with luggage and keys and fast food.  Lena taking his backpack without his consent.  Throwing out the food.  Washing it.  And his blanket.  

“And I didn’t eat lunch.  But I said I did.”

“Because of feeling like you have to lie?” Pearl asks, sympathy in her voice.

Jesus nods.  “I feel like they want me gone.”

“Why do you think that?” Pearl asks, trying to keep her voice quiet.  Her tone even.

“Because it’s easier.”

“For them or for you?”

“For them.  That’s why they like it better when I’m fine.”

“So you feel like they want the  _real you_  gone.”

“Mm-hmm.  Because Lena washed the bag and the blanket and threw out the food because it was gross.  And Stef didn’t do anything about the airport dude.  And she said I messed up and I need to take responsibility…  They can’t throw me out, even though I’m gross.  But I think they wish they could.”

“That sounds so lonely.  And scary,” Pearl offers, her heart breaking.

“Do you wish you could throw me away?  Have the old me back?” he asks.  Grief shines in his eyes.  His voice sounds thick, not distant and flat.

“No,” Pearl says, willing her voice to sound confident.  If she breaks into tears now, Jesus might easily misinterpret.  “The person I got to know this week?  And _trust_?  And enjoy spending time with and talking to?  That was you right now.  Post-trauma.  Not a little boy. Right?  I got to know the real you.  And I care very much about the real you.  The real person.  All your real, completely valid feelings.  I would never want to throw you away.  Would you ever want to throw me away?”

“No.  You’re too important,” Jesus says without missing a beat.

“That’s how I feel about you, Jesus.  You’re too important.”

“Hmm…” he seems thoughtful.

Pearl steels herself for what comes next.  Jesus isn’t going to like it.  But she has to follow through.  She takes a breath:  “When you’re ready, I need to talk to you about something.”

–

“What?” Jesus can tell by the look on Pearl’s face that it isn’t something good.

“I need to let your parents know that you’re not feeling safe.”

“No.  You don’t,” Jesus says it calmly because it’s obvious.  She doesn’t need to tell them anything.  “I’m safe now. You watched me put everything back and throw it out.”

“I did, and I’m so proud that you did that, because I know it was hard.  But I gave your parents my word that I would let them know if you said anything that was concerning.  With regard to your safety.”

“So, you’re keeping a promise to  _them_?  I thought you were on  _my_ side…” Jesus feels the betrayal deep inside.  He should have known trusting Pearl was too good to be true.

“Jesus, I’m not keeping a promise to them.  I’m keeping my promise to  _you_ ,” Pearl insists.  They’re the last words he expects to ever hear from her and they stop him short.  He remembers an old question that helps him get more info if he needs it.  

“Can you be any more specific?” he wonders, even though he wants to hang up and run, and not stop.

“Do you remember when we talked about the what ifs?  You said you wished it were me who gave you a ride home.  Right?”

“I remember,” he breathes.

“You asked if I would have gotten you home safe and I told you I would.  That if your parents weren’t home, I’d wait with you until they were.  Because I wanted you to be safe.”  She pauses and then adds: “This is like that.”

“You have to tell them so I’ll be safe?” he asks, even though the words feel awful coming out.

“Yes.  Part of being friends is taking care of each other.  This is me keeping you safe.  This is me taking care of you.”

“I don’t want them to know,” Jesus admits.

“I know.  I’m sure it’s beyond scary, especially if you’re feeling like they want to throw away the real you.  But this is important, Jesus, because  _you_  are important.  Is there one of your moms you’d rather I tell?  Would you feel better being able to control that aspect?”

“Any aspect, yeah.  But I don’t know who I’d pick.  I think Stef would hate me and she already didn’t protect me and Lena…she betrayed me and made me feel so unsafe like I can’t ever trust her.  I mean, where’s the choice in that?”  Jesus asks, feeling helpless.  “Are you sure you can’t just trust me that I’m safe that I put the stuff back?”

“Let me ask you something.  And you can tell me the truth on this.  I want you to.  Do you trust yourself to be able to stay safe since you put the stuff back?  One-hundred percent safe?”

“No,” Jesus admits.

“Okay.  I appreciate you telling me.  Will you let me call your moms?”

“They’ll be mad.”

“I’ll explain to them that it’s not something you’re choosing.  Right? When you do those things?  It isn’t because you want to.  It’s because you’re trying to cope.”

A tear slips out, and Jesus angrily wipes it away.

“Hey.  Tears are positive.  They’re honest.  And it’s okay to tell the truth, right?” Pearl reminds.  

Jesus sees for the first time, tears there in Pearl’s own eyes.

“They’re also vulnerable as hell…” Jesus mutters.

“Yeah, they are, and that can feel scary.  But you’re safe with me,” Pearl reassures.  “I’m gonna get your mom on the phone.  I’m thinking about calling Stef because I have more of a history with her, so I think she’d hear me better on this.  Are you okay with that?”  

“I mean, I trust you, so I guess…”

“I want you to stay here so I can see you, and know you’re with me,” Pearl advises.  He can see her phone in her hand now.

“Can you mute your mic?  I don’t wanna hear what you tell her.  And can you tell her please not to get mad and yell at me?”

“I will.  But I want you to keep looking at me.  And I want you to count, out loud.  So you have something to focus on.  Count how many times you rock.  Okay?”

Jesus swallows.  Nods.  Feels tears burning his throat and nose.

“It’s gonna be okay, Jesus.  I promise.” Pearl says as he starts to count.

She mutes the sound on her end and gives him a thumbs up, her eyebrows raised.  He nods.  Keeps counting.  Keeps looking at her face.

–

Stef’s phone ringing in the middle of the night is still enough to get her heart racing.

She snatches it up before it can ring again and wake Lena, who is still exhausted from the trip and the nightmare of needing to wrangle Jesus solo, while he had a panic attack in the car last night.

“Hello?” she asks.

“Stef?  This is Pearl.”

“Hi, love.  How are you?” Stef asks, concerned.  It’s after 10 PM, which means it’s after midnight for Pearl.

“I’m okay.  But Jesus isn’t.”

Just like that, Stef is wide awake.  “Talk to me.  What do you mean, he’s not okay?”

Stef listens, alternately scared, angry and judging the hell out of herself for not catching this sooner.  Pearl doesn’t disclose more than Stef absolutely needs to know, which is enough to let her know she will need to start keeping all the sharp implements in locked in their room again.

“He’s dealing with a lot of triggers, and he needs to be able to talk through those.  And he asked me to ask you not to get mad and yell at him.  So maybe keep me on the phone?  We can talk to him together?”

“We can.  I’ll call you back.  Let me check on him first.”

–

Jesus is still counting when he hears Pearl’s voice again.  By now, Mariana’s phone is dead but Jesus called Pearl back right away on Skype from his own phone, which is all charged up from a day of doing nothing.

“Jesus?  It’s Mom.  Can you come out here, please?”

This is it.  His eyes get huge.  She’s gonna kick his ass.  Get rid of him.  Maybe use her handcuffs.

“Jesus.  Stay with me,” Pearl’s saying.  “I am right here.  I’m not leaving you.  If you have a question, you can ask.  You’re not in trouble.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she echoes.  “We can tell each other the truth, remember?  We don’t have to lie.  You’re all done with that.”

Tentatively, Jesus gets up from the chair and stares at Stef warily through the beads.

“What?” he asks.

“I need you to come out here, so I can talk to you in the living room, please.”

Even though Jesus can feel his pulse beating like crazy in his neck, he follows her. When they get to the living room, Jesus stacks some books and props his phone up on them so it’s like Pearl is right here, too.  The kitchen is right there, and Jesus feels his stomach growl.  He hates being down a meal.  Cookie Land is there, at the back of his mind, in case he needs to go there, instead of feeling like he might starve.

“I understand you’re having a hard time coping, my baby.  Is this true?”

Jesus looks to Pearl.  Nods.

“Where does it hurt?  Can you show me?” Mom asks, sounding not like Mom at all.  At least, not lately.

Again, he checks in with Pearl.  She could handle seeing this, but can Mom?  Pearl nods for him to show her.

Slowly, he pushes up his sleeves, takes off his bracelets and turns his arms over, so the inside of his forearms are showing.  Proof of just how terrible he is.

“Can I clean these and bandage them for you?” Mom asks.

Jesus shrugs.

“Jesus?  Look at me, love.  What happened here?” she wonders.

“A knife.  Scissors.  And a rubberband,” he admits, looking away.

“Where are the scissors?” Pearl interrupts.

“Back in Mariana’s room.  I wasn’t gonna do anything with them, or the knife, I just needed them for another reason.”

“What other reason, Jesus?” Mom insists.

“Nothing.  You’ll be mad,” Jesus says softly.  “Trust me, I know you.”

“Jesus. This is important.  I need you to tell me.  You’re not in trouble.  No one is going to hurt you.  I just need to know.  What did you need the scissors and the knife for?”

“My backpack….” he mumbles.

“Why?” Pearl wants to know.

“Because it was too light, empty.  I didn’t want it to be around anymore.  It could only be around if it was clean.  And that made me pissed off.  So I cut it apart and threw it out.  Now it’s not clean and okay anymore.  It’s wrecked,” he raises his chin.

Mom waits.  Then tries again, asking, “Can I take care of your arms, Jesus?”

“So you don’t have to see it?” he challenges.

“No, love, because I know that being sick or injured is difficult for you.  And I want to make sure things are less difficult.  More low stress.  More ideal.”

“I think you and Mama–” Jesus starts and then stops himself.

“You think we what, Jesus?” Mom prompts.

At Pearl’s nod, Jesus swallows and plunges ahead.  “You say you wanna help, but you don’t really.  You just don’t wanna see.  You won’t do anything except ignore it, or cover it up.”

“Jesus?” Pearl offers.  “If I were there with you, I’d ask the same thing your mom is.  Not because I want to cover it up and ignore it, but because your body needs to be safe.  If I left that unbandaged and an infection got in, that’s not safe for your body.  And seeing it all the time probably isn’t safe for your mind.  Is any of what I’m saying getting in?”

“I mean, I guess…” he offers grudgingly.

“I’m not with you in person right now, as much as I wish I was.  But your mom is with you.  In person.  She can help you.  Will you let her?”

“Is it the same?  Does she want my body to be safe?” he asks, feeling so small and dumb.

“Yes, I do, Jesus,” Stef says.  “And your mind, too.”

“I want Pearl to stay.”

“I can do that.  We can talk while your mom helps you.”

Stef walks him out to the kitchen because there’s better light.  She sets a bottle of water next to him and a bag of loaded potato skin Ruffles chips.  She has him sit there and eat and drink and talk to Pearl while she goes and gets stuff from the bathroom.

When she comes back, Jesus puts his arms out in front of him.

“You’re going to feel a warm, wet cloth, Jesus.  I’m going to gently wipe your arms, so we can be sure no germs get trapped in there when we bandage it.  There’s some soap on the first cloth so it might sting.  Let me know when you’re ready.  Keep talking to Pearl.  Look at her while we do this, yes?”

“Yeah.  Go,” he nods.

“Did you mean to say yes, I’m ready?  Because, if I’m not mistaken, anything else means that you’re not.”

Jesus’s eyes flicker to hers.  The fact that she caught something he didn’t even catch means something.  It means she’s noticing him again.  “Yes, I’m ready,” he nods.

While all that’s going on, Jesus talks to Pearl.  She wants him to try and guess what he sent her in the mail.  Jesus doesn’t tell her that he kinda forgot she even did that.  He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

He starts guessing ridiculous things, just so he can hear her laugh.

“I mean…is it a lifetime supply of hot chocolate?  ‘Cause that sounds like something you would send.”

It works.  Pearl laughs.

“So close, but no,” she yawns.

“I just realized, it’s like, super late there, and you and Frankie have basically the same bedtime.”

“That we do,” Pearl nods.

“So, why are you still here?”

“Because you need me,” Pearl says, like it makes total sense.

Jesus tunes in as Mom tells him she’s just about done.  When she is, he can see how his arms look now.

One little bandaid on his right wrist.  And some bigger bandaids on the left, up his arm a little ways.  He shows Pearl.  

“There.  Now I’m taken care of.  You can sleep.  Dream of the giant tatertot casserole you sent me.”

“Will do.  Will you call me if you need me tonight?”

“I can?”

“Absolutely.  I want you to.”

“Okay.  Then I will.  You can call me, too.  I’ll leave my phone on.”

“Bye, Jesus.  I care about you.  I’ll check in soon.  Let your mom help you.”

“Okay.”

–

Somehow, Mom convinces him to sit in the giant easy chair in the living room together.  It’s wide enough they can be side by side, but sometimes he’d rather just lie across her lap.  Now isn’t one of the times he wants to do this, but he’s pretty sure he needs it.  

All this crap hasn’t really come up this strong since he was thirteen, and just got home.  And a lot of what they did in those first couple months was simple stuff like sitting in a chair together.  Feeling okay being held.  Looking into their eyes.  Being rocked.

It doesn’t feel okay yet.  He still has a lot of angry and sad feelings to work through before it will, but it does feel safe.  Where being on his own wouldn’t.  He has his blanket around him, and while he still resents the hell out of the fact that it’s clean, it helps as a barrier, to have it there.  

Mom makes sure she can see his hands all the time.  That’s annoying but also makes him feel safer.

“Do your bracelets help?” she asks.

“I gave one to Pearl,” he confesses, losing her eye contact already.

“That’s your choice, love.  It’s okay to share with friends.”

“But I can see them more now.  Not the ones from me, but…” he trails off, hoping Mom can follow his totally non-specific train of thought about having his scars visible, and how tough that is.

Jesus can see her eyes travel from his face.  Find his wrists.  See immediately what he means.

“We’ll get you another bracelet.  Your choice.  You shouldn’t have to see reminders of that if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not okay.”

“I hear you.  And it’s expected, love.  You’re human.  Nobody’s okay all the time.  It’s okay to struggle.”

“I don’t like it.  I don’t like pretending.  I don’t like being mad at you and Mama.”

“That makes sense.  You shouldn’t have to pretend.  And feeling mad at Mama and me probably makes it very hard to trust us.”

Jesus nods.

“I want you to know that we’re going to keep you safe.  We’re going to make sure those things are somewhere they can’t hurt you.  Like when you first came home.  Do you remember?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m also going to call Dr. Hitchens in the morning, to see if we can’t get you in more frequently  this week.”

“You’ll keep me safe, even though I’m mad at you?”

“I’m your Mom.  I keep you safe no matter what.”

There’s no talking.  And then Jesus has to ask.  “Can I leave?”

“I’m sorry?” Mom asks, jerking awake.

“Can I leave?  Like, I’m not locked in, right?”

“No.  You are not locked in.  I wouldn’t want you leaving at night without telling Mama or me first.  But you’re not being kept here, my sweet, okay?”

“You locked the doors.”

“I did.  Because you’ve told me many times that you need the doors locked in order to feel safe sleeping.”

“It felt different this time.”

Mom holds him tighter.  It feels good, and like too much at the same time.  Because a big part of Jesus still feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

“Is it okay to fall asleep here?” he asks.  “Like, will you wake me up before any of the kids see?”

“Yes, it’s okay to fall asleep here, if you want to.  Of course I’ll wake you up.  If that’s what you need.”

“Even though I’m still mad?”

“I can handle your mad, Jesus.” Mom says, as he drifts off.

“But I can’t handle yours…” he says.

“I know that.  And you don’t have to.  I’ve got you, my baby.  I’ve got you.”


	43. Chapter 43

When Pearl hangs up with Jesus, she’s devastated.

It’s not that his pain is too much for her to take, or that she has enough struggles of her own.  Pearl knows intimately just how capable she is of handling sorrow in life.  It’s just that the sorrow is usually hers to bear.  It’s not someone else’s.  Someone she’s grown very quickly to love like family.  Jesus is like a younger brother, but not the kind you pick on.  He’s the kind who’s smart and thoughtful and deep and just tries so damn hard all the time, that sometimes it all comes apart.

Pearl stares at her Skype screen, at her recent calls: with Pav, with Mariana, and with Jesus.  None of them are online anymore.  But Char is.

She’s on the couch with Gracie when Pearl decides that waiting until she felt okay would probably mean she’d never call.  

“Screw it,” she sobs and hits the button for video call.

Char answers on the third ring.  “Oh, Pearl Jam.  What’s up?”  Her tone is all softness, and her words, as usual, are ridiculous.

“Don’t call me Pearl Jam…”

“Fine.  What can I do?  You need me to beat someone up?  Cuss someone out?  I’m your woman.  You know?  Just let me put on pants first.  It’s that Gladys, isn’t it?  I can totally take her.”

Against her will, a smile breaks through Pearl’s tears.  “No.  Please don’t.  It’s not Gladys…  It’s my… …God, what do I call him?  He’s so protective about who knows what about him, and I wanna respect that.”

“Baby Survivor?” Char asks quietly.

“Char.”

“Well, is it?”

“Yes.  But I don’t like you calling him that.”

“Fine.  You’d prefer Neighbors-Grandson?  We can stick with that.  So, he’s not okay?”

“No.  He’s not,” Pearl sniffs.

“That sucks,” Char offers, and Pearl loves her bluntness.

“It does.  I just got off the phone with him and he is…” Pearl trails off again, reluctant to out any detail that Jesus may not want shared.

“Deep in the wilderness?” Char supplies, all traces of humor gone from her face.

“Yes,” Pearl admits before her own face crumbles.

Char just sits and takes it all in.  All of Pearl’s gross sobbing.  All of Pearl with her walls down.  She’d thought it would feel terrifying, but it feels strangely comforting - to have someone here, but physically incapable of trying to touch her right now.

“I had to keep it all together while he was so obviously not okay.  Which I would do again in a heartbeat for him.  For you.  For any of us, you know?  But I’m so upset for him.”

“You don’t have to keep it together now,” Char says simply, just letting Pearl cry for another minute.  “I’d offer you a hanky, but, we’re, like 2,000 miles apart,” Char says apologetically.

“You’re so much closer to him right now than I am.  I’m so jealous.  I just wanna be there.  To check in with him.”

“But you  _did_  check in with him.  Right?  He knows you’re here if he needs you. And if you need me to go on some big adventure to ensure Neighbor’s-Grandson is okay, then so be it.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer,” Pearl manages.  “I don’t think  _he_ would.  He’s not too big on sudden things.  …I’m a mess…and you always make me laugh, even when there is nothing funny about a situation.”

“It’s a defense mechanism.  I’m a huge baby deep down.  But those defenses don’t come down unless I want them to.”

“I’m here if you do,” Pearl offers.”

“Thanks.  Now will you get some sleep?  You gotta take care of yourself.”

Pearl sighs.  “Heard.  Night, Char.”

–

The next morning, Jesus startles awake, feeling exhausted and terrible.  He’s definitely not expecting to be cuddled up to Mom in the easy chair.  He freezes, just trying to get his bearings.

“Morning, my baby,” Mom greets softly.  “You don’t have to be scared.  You asked to sleep here last night, as long as we were up before everyone else, remember?”

Little by little, Jesus relaxes, but he’s still holding his breath.

“I’m making sure you’re safe.  Nobody’s awake yet.  Take a deep breath for me.  It’s okay.”  She rocks the chair, and he can breathe.  She waits.  “When you’re ready, I want you to look at me.  So I can see how you’re doing.”

The last thing Jesus can do this morning is to look into Mom’s face and see all her disappointment.  He waits for the fallout.

Nothing happens.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” she asks.

“Gross.”

“Do you know why?”

Jesus shrugs and then says, “Because I’m like the backpack.  But you and Mama can’t just throw away the gross parts and have a normal son.  I can’t be that.  But I was trying to be not gross for you.  So you’d want to have me around.”

“Jesus?  You’re a human being.  You’re not an object.  You’re not disposable.  You’re not worthless.”

He can’t take this. It makes him feel like he can’t settle.  So just like that, he’s super restless and Mom’s probably regretting letting him be here.

“Relax.  Hey.  It’s okay.  Breathe.”  She rocks some more and it helps.  But he still can’t look at her.

“Neither is the backpack…” he whispers, when he can talk again.

“Neither is the backpack?” she echoes, confused.

“It’s not…  She can’t…  I mean…” Jesus tries, but he just can’t explain what he means.

“You can slow down,” Mom encourages softly.  “We’re not in a hurry.”

He drags in a breath.  Feels his hands clench with his jaw.  Just like that he meets her eyes, angry:  “It was important.  Not just something to empty out and throw away.  If you wanna do it to that, do you wanna do it to me?!” he asks, a little frantic.

“Absolutely not.  We love you very much.  Just the way you are.  We have never wanted to throw you away, not ever, not one time.”  She waits and rocks some more, waiting to see if what she’s saying will sink in.  “I’m hearing you say that the backpack and the food in it were significant to you, and that throwing the food away and washing the bag hurt you very much.”

Jesus nods, looking at the ceiling.

(It’s dangerous to look there because it’s where he used to look everytime he was getting hurt There.)

“I can see this is very hard for you, Jesus, but I need you to try again to focus on me, please.”

( _Please try again_.  The nice French man from Cookie Land.  If Mom’s saying please maybe she won’t get mad.)

Jesus finds her face for a second.  Her eyes.  It’s like agony.  Like she can see all the way inside his soul.  To just how bad he is.

She says it again:  “I love you very much, Jesus, and I’m so sorry about your backpack.  Mama and I didn’t understand.”

“But you never touch my food.  You understand that part,” he points out, feeling braver.

“You’re right.  Listen, the kids are going to start waking up in about a half hour.  I want to have Porch Time this morning, just you and me and Mama.  So I want you to come upstairs with me.  I understand you don’t feel safe in our bedroom, but I want you to stand in the hallway where I can see you.  I’ll wake Mama a little early, and we’ll go out front together.”

They walk upstairs together and Mom keeps Jesus close.  Her arms around him.  It’s okay because he still has his blanket on.  He stops outside the doorway and waits while Mom goes inside and talks to Mama.  Jesus looks away.  He hates seeing their bed.  Even though he used to like it.

Mama comes downstairs with him and Mom.  She gets him some water and a granola bar to bring outside and they sit on the swing.  It’s chilly.  Jesus wishes he felt okay to put Moms’ arms around him, but he doesn’t.  Being out here reminds him of the airport and how she didn’t protect him there.

“Jesus, do you want to tell Mama, or should I?”

“You,” he whispers.  This is gonna be humiliating as hell.  He wants to plug his ears.  To bash his head.  To destroy the dumb parts of him that make him do such dumb shit.

“Jesus is having a hard time staying safe,” Mom says, and her words feel so terrible to him.

“What happened, bud?” Lena asks, looking totally blindsided.  (Like she completely forgot that this happened eight days ago, too.)

He shrugs.  

“I’ve been texting with Holly this morning, and she can get you in while Frankie’s at school.  She recommended coming in daily, until you start to feel more stable.”  This part is to Jesus, but then she looks to Lena:

“Holly also asked if you’d be willing to sit in for at least part of the session, with Jesus’s consent.  There’s a big issue for Jesus that he needs to work through in order to feel safe with you again.”

“Of course, I’ll come in, Jesus.  Whatever you need,” Lena says, and her words feel like lies.  It makes him feel like lying back.  But Pearl said he was all done with that now.  He’s not There.

“We need to talk about safety, Jesus.  And I need to hear from you,” Mom explains.  “You told me you had taken some things from around the house.  A knife and some scissors.”

Lena looks freaked out.  And Jesus gets why.  The last time he smuggled a knife out of the kitchen, he ended up pulling it on Jude when he was triggered.  They had to send all the kids away until he was safer to be around.

“We know you would never intentionally hurt any of us, but we also know that you’re not in control when you’re triggered.  And you’re not feeling present if you’re arming yourself.  So, I need to know, from you, do you feel comfortable having your brothers and sisters at home while we help you? Or would you feel more comfortable if they went to stay with Grandma and Grandpa Adams again?” Mom looks sad even mentioning this, but strong, too.

“I don’t want them to go.” Jesus says definitively.  This is their home, too.

“Okay, well, let’s talk about what would need to happen in that case.  I think, for Frankie’s safety, that if you and she are in a room together, someone else needs to be, as well.  No one on one time with her until further notice.” Mom nods.

Mama hums in agreement.

Jesus feels like the bottom just dropped out of his world.  No opportunities to really hang out and talk with his buddy would be brutal.  But he knows deep down that what Mom’s saying is true.  He’s definitely not in control when he’s triggered.  He’d never think of threatening Jude on a regular day, and he’d just been a ten year old little kid then.  Sending them away had been for their own protection.

As much as it hurts, if Jesus wants them to be able to stay, it has to be like this.

“Agreed,” he admits, even though it makes him feel like the worst brother in the world.

–

“Do we need to need to keep the knives and scissors in our room?” Stef asks, looking Jesus in the eye.

“I’m the worst.  I’m such a bad brother,” Jesus mutters.

“Hey.  You are looking out for Frankie’s safety.  That makes you a great brother,” Stef insists.  “A bad brother would tell me he didn’t need to be watched around Frankie.  He’d put his own wants above what was best for his little sister.  Yes?  But you didn’t do that.  You’re not bad.  Now can you think what we need to do with the things you’ve used.”

“If I get the feeling…it’s not gonna matter that they’re put away.  I’ll find a way.  I just know myself.”

“I hear you.  I’m going to have Lena run all this by Dr. Hitchens and get approval from her, as well.  We value your input.  We also value hers, as one of your safe people and as your therapist.  So we’ll see what she says about that.  In the meantime, you can expect to be checked in with.  And that Mama or I will take care of your arms.  Until they heal.  Make sense?”

“Yes,” Jesus says to the ground.

“Hey.  You’re not in trouble.  This conversation is a serious one.  We need to be clear about what you can expect, and we are going to need you to be honest with us.”

“I don’t know…” Jesus hedges.

Stef takes a breath. “What does that mean, Jesus?”

“…if I can?” he finishes.

“Then you say, ‘I’m having trouble being honest right now.’  That’s still honest.  We’re going to ask you questions throughout the day, so often you’ll probably be sick of hearing them, but we need to ask.”

“Like, what questions?” Jesus wonders.

“Well, let’s discuss that.  What questions do you need us to ask?”

And Stef settles in to listen as Jesus starts to speak.


	44. Chapter 44

It has to be said - only Jesus can’t say it out loud - so he texts Pearl:

_Therapy this AM was hella embarrassing._

That sentence doesn’t cover the half of it, really.  Dr. H. has seen him at his lowest.  Lower, even, than this.  When he first came back, stuff was pretty awful.  But this is a really close second.  And a really disappointing place to be back in, when he thought he had left it behind.  It makes him feel like a total failure.  So, the embarrassing part is to be back here under these circumstances.  It feels like he’s letting Dr. H. down.  Like by doing this, Jesus is saying that all her help was for nothing.  But the real humiliation is having Lena here, too.

When they started, it had just been Dr. H. and Jesus.  And Dr. H. asked him questions about what happened between him and Lena that caused a rift.  He tried to explain about the backpack.  How it felt like so much more than a backpack.  How her wanting to dump all the food out because it was gross had hurt him.  Because of Isaac.  Because it’s the main way they connected.  And because Jesus couldn’t save Isaac.  But he could save the food.  That the food meant feeling secure when he was away from home.  But it was also more than that.

It’s when Lena actually comes in that stuff gets real.  Because Dr. H. encourages him to talk to her about that, but also about what it made him feel about her.  The idea of talking to her right now makes him want to run.  To puke.  To self destruct.  He can’t trust her.

“This all happening…it makes me feel like I can’t be honest anymore,” he admits.

“You said, ‘this all happening’, Jesus.  What do you mean by that?” Dr. H. prompts.

Jesus kinda hates her relentless need for clear communication.  It’s obvious what he means.  Why not just leave it at that?

A voice that sounds a lot like Pearl’s responds in his head:  _Because talking around things and telling half-truths is what led you to take things out on yourself in the first place.  This is not your fault.  So talk to them.  Pretend I’m right there. How honest could you be, then?_

“The trip.  The suddenness of it.  The not really having a choice in it.  The going back to LA.  All the triggers.  Coming back and having to go to LA again.  All the bags and having to ride in the car with them.  But mostly, when you threw away my food and washed my bag.”

“What else can you tell Lena about that?” Dr. H. wants to know.

“It made me feel like I was There again.  And when I was There, He used to not let me eat.  If ever caught me hoarding or anything?  He probably would have thrown it all away.  Being There, I had to lie all the time.  Being There, I couldn’t be honest about being hurt by the things He was doing.”

“So, would you say that Lena throwing away your food without talking to you brought those feelings back up again?” Dr. H. wants to know.

“Yes.  It made me feel out of control because you didn’t ask, you just took it and did it.  Because you thought it was gross and bad.  You threw out everything inside and washed the outside.  But the backpack’s pointless if it can’t hold things.”

“How did you feel when you got the backpack back?” Dr. H. again.  

“It felt too light.  And I did, too.  Like nothing was grounding me.  I felt like passing out.  Because the bag…it was clean…” Jesus hates that his voice is getting all thick.  Hates that he’s this emotional.

But Dr. H. encourages him to breathe and let himself feel it.  To try to keep talking.  

“What did it mean to you, that the backpack was clean?” Dr. H. asks gently.

“That it’s what you wish you could do to me.  Throw away the gross parts.  But you can’t because you wouldn’t have a son left at all.  It made me feel like you wish I was normal.”

“Can you ask her?  Look at her and ask her, Jesus,” Dr. H. coaxes.

“Do you?” he manages, looking Mama in the eyes.  “Do you wish you could throw away this me, and have a normal one back?”

“Jesus.  No.  There is only one you.  And I would never want to throw you away.  If I had any idea how much cleaning your bag would affect you, I would have done things entirely differently.”

“How?” he asks, suspicious.

“For one thing, you and I would have discussed this at length.  Probably here in the office, so I could be sure I was being as clear as I could be for you.  About why taking care of your bag was necessary.”

  
“It wasn’t!” he exclaims.  “You just didn’t like it around!  Just like you don’t like me around!  How am I supposed to ever trust anything you say again when everything you’re saying just feels like a lie?”

“Jesus.  I need you to get grounded for me, please.  Take some deep breaths.  Recognize where you are.”

“I know where I am,” he scoffs.  Seriously, just because He called Jesus dumb all the time doesn’t mean he is.

“Breathe, please,” Dr. H. cues patiently.  “Plant your feet.  Sit back.  Feel your hands on your knees.  I want you to look at me, and tell me, please, where you are right now.  Go slowly.  There’s time.”

Even though it’s infuriating, Jesus listens.  Because even though everything else in his life is seriously unclear and crappy, he knows what to expect here.  He knows that Dr. H. is always about keeping him safe.  And she can be trusted, even if Lena can’t be.

“I’m in your office.  At therapy,” he begins.

Dr. H. has him describe some boring details of the office, like the chair he’s sitting in and the bottle of glitter that always seems to be around.  Then, she says, “You are not There.  There, you had to lie for your own safety.  Here, you’re free to tell the truth, because your mother and I will keep you safe.”

When he thinks he can listen to Lena talk again without exploding, Jesus tells her as much.  This time, she’s more specific, thanks to Dr. H. asking her to be as specific as she can about what she might have done differently, and why throwing away the food was necessary.

“Well, I think first, what I should have done is had a conversation with you about what I was thinking.  To bring up the idea.  See how you felt about it.”

He nods.  “That would make me feel like you do want me here.”

“Then what, Jesus?” Lena asks, surprising him.  “What would have been ideal in that situation?”

“Give me another backpack with food before you take mine.”

“Okay. So you would have needed a replacement before we talked about the possibility of emptying the other one?”

“Yes.”

“Is what Lena’s telling you right now resonating as true, Jesus?” Dr. H. asks.

“Yes.  Because she’s listening to me about what I need.  Not just doing stuff.”

“So, do you think we can have a conversation about why the bag needed to be emptied?”

“I know why.”

“Do you need to discuss it further?  If it still feels tied to Lena’s perception of you, I think a discussion could be helpful.  What do you think?” Dr. H. asks.

“I know it’s not healthy to have a backpack full of rotting food just hanging out in the house.  I get that it’s not healthy.  I remember how sick Mariana and I always were because there was no food around and what was there had gone bad.  It makes sense.  It just hurt because you didn’t consider me, Mama.”

“And I should have, Jesus.  I really should have.  I’m so sorry.”

“Do you feel like you can trust Lena now?  Do you feel like you can make a distinction between what she did and the way He treated you?  That He would not let you eat, but that your mother will?”

“You do want me to?” he asks.  

“I do want you to.  And I’m going to be doing a better job paying attention to you at meal times and making sure that you have what you need.  That you feel like you can eat.  And if you don’t, I’m going to notice, and we’re going to navigate that together, like we did at the cabin, remember?”

They wait a little and then it’s time for the really awful part.  Because Dr. H. and Lena are serious about having a conversation about Jesus’s self-harming and all the specifics that need to happen so that he can be safe, but also that everybody else can be safe, too.

Dr. H. doesn’t push him for graphic details, but he does offer to show her his arms, where Stef bandaged them.  He still feels an unreal amount of shame, but he wants her to know that he really did get help with taking care of them.  That he’s taking steps to do better.

“Jesus mentioned this morning that he felt like keeping all the items that might pose a danger to him put up in our room isn’t something he thinks would help, because if he’s in the mindset, he’s going to find a way to follow through.  We wanted to get your thoughts on this.” Lena says.

“I think it’s important to listen to Jesus and what he’s saying, but also to not shy away from asking him the necessary questions here:  Was that the the healthy part of you speaking about not wanting the implements put away, or the unhealthy part?”

“It was the honest part,” Jesus says.  

“Do you think this decision will ultimately help the healthy part of you get stronger?”

“I need to know how to survive in the world.  And in the world there are rubberbands.”

“Do you feel like you could let your family know if you needed them to move a particular item away from you?  To tell them you’re feeling unsafe?”

“Well, I’d have to, yeah.  If I want to give the healthy part of myself a chance to dominate again?”

“Do you want that?” Dr. H. asks bluntly.

“Yeah.  I do.”

“It’s going to take hard work.  And honesty.  And clarity.  At all times.  You are going to feel uncomfortable.”

“I know,” he says softly, but he’s holding her gaze.

“So you are saying, you would rather advocate for yourself in situations, as needed?”

“Right.”

“I’d also recommend that your parents not be afraid to check in with you, as frequently as they need to.  And that, if they do not, that you understand that to make the healthy part of you stronger, you need to reach out to a safe person and tell them that you’re struggling.  Say the words out loud.  So, Lena, if you would, ask Jesus the question, “Are you safe right now?”

“Are you safe right now, Jesus?” Mama says.  She looks right at him.

Jesus takes a deep breath, and does his best to maintain eye contact.  If he is safe, he has nothing to hide.  Nothing to be ashamed of.  “Yes, I’m safe right now.”

Dr. H. has him practice the phrase.  Practice holding Mama’s gaze while he says it.  Recognizing the feeling of being safe.

“If I asked you last night, ‘Are you safe right now?’ how would you have responded?”

“Probably not at first.”

“So you might have said, “I can’t be honest right now,” Dr. H. fills in helpfully.

“Right, we talked about that.  So you want me to practice saying that?  I can’t be honest right now?”

“I think it would be helpful to get a feel for the phrase.  What do you think?”

“Probably,” he agrees, even though his ears are burning.  

When that’s done, Dr. H. also has him say the phrase, “I’m struggling.”  It feels raw and vulnerable.  And it’s hard to actually speak those words.  But with practice, it gets a bit easier.

They talk about Jesus being able to demonstrate his safety by turning out his pockets.  They practice this in the office, too, where it feels the most safe.  And they talk about bringing back old safety plans for the bathroom and kitchen.  Having a timer in the bathroom.  Having at least one adult seated by him at the kitchen table.  Being able to see his hands at all times.

Like he said to Pearl, it’s humiliating.

But if it helps him get strong again - to make the healthy part of him dominate again - then it’s worth it.  


	45. Chapter 45

The only good thing that happens while he and Mama are on their own is that Pearl texts back:

_I can’t imagine how hard it is.  But I know you are worth it.  I know you can do this.  And even if it happens again - I’ll be there._

Pearl’s words let him breathe easier.  It’s not that he wants permission to do it again (even though he’s been rerouting the urge all freaking day long), it’s that her words let him know that her support for him doesn’t end when he is doing well.

He texts her back:

_Thanks.  It is hard but I am safe right now.  Taking it second by second.  Day by day is too hard._

Mama is serious about paying more attention to him at meals.  At lunch, she’s so clear it’s embarrassing, but at least he doesn’t question if it’s true.  He tries not to mind that she sits right next to him until he’s finished.  He keeps veering from wanting that healthy part of him to win out to totally humiliated that any of this is even a thing.  It’s super hard to stay balanced.

It’s even harder when Frankie comes home and Mama won’t let them be on their own.  It makes him feel like the biggest failure.

Another text from Pearl gets here at the perfect time:

_Knowing what you can handle is important.  You have great self-awareness.  Rack up those seconds.  You can do it._

–

When Mariana and the rest of his sibs get home from school, Jesus is nowhere near ready.  He knows that this means they are that much closer to Porch Time from Hell, where all of them are gonna know about what Jesus is dealing with.  Mom gets back at 5:00.  It’s dinnertime and then…

“Okay, we need everybody in the living room for Porch Time, please,” Mom calls.

“Jesus,” she says much quieter.  “How are you doing, my baby?  Are you safe right now?”

“Yes, I’m safe right now, but I’m embarrassed.  I don’t wanna be here for  this, Mom.  Can’t you and Mama just tell them?  I feel like it’s a meeting about how bad I suck.”

He fidgets with a bracelet, so Mom asks to hold his hand.  He says she can.

Better to have that than to have to start over at zero instead of adding to his 18-hour total of self-harm free time.  It helps if he imagines it like a video game.  No one wants to start all over.

“Sit down with me, love?” she asks.

He does.  Jesus feels like she picked the double wide recliner on purpose.  And he hopes that none of the other kids are gonna hassle him about where he is.

“This is a family meeting, Jesus, and you are a part of us.  Mama showed me her notes from your session this morning.  About the safety plan and what you practiced?  I’m very proud of you.  And we need to all be on the same page in order to help you.  We’re talking about this tonight because we love you and we want you to succeed.  Not because we want you to feel badly about yourself.  I can understand why you would feel embarrassed, but I think it takes someone very brave to admit to their family that they need support.”

Jesus can hear what she says, but he doesn’t like it.  He feels awful about himself, and this is only gonna make him feel worse.

Mama’s here, sitting on the couch.  So is Frankie, on her lap.  So is Mariana.  Jude.  When Callie and Brandon file in, it’s almost too much.  Jesus whispers “Time” to Mom.

“I know you’re dealing with a lot, Jesus, but we want you here,” Mom says.  “Can you stay?  Or do you need a break first?”

“Stay,” he manages, because he knows that if he goes anywhere it will be even harder to cope away from this chair, and Mom.

“Oh, yeah, Jesus.  You know?  This is the first time I ever got to do Porch Time for real,” Frankie tells him seriously.  “You should stay so it’s all of us together.”

Hearing from Mom makes him want to crawl out of his skin, but similar words from Frankie, somehow, land just right.  He can cope.  At least for one more second.  Two.  Three.

“Guys,” Mama speaks up.  “Jesus and Mom and I need you to know something.  It’s very hard for Jesus, so we all need to be supportive.  No jokes.  No sarcasm.  Just really obvious support.  Make sense so far?”  

There are yeses all around the room, but Jesus can’t look at any of them in the eye.

“What is it?” Brandon asks.

“Jesus, whatever it is, we’ll do whatever we can to help,” Callie adds.

“Jesus, do you want to tell them what’s going on?” Mom whispers.  

He gets that she wants him to feel empowered, but right now he just wants to melt into the floor.  He shakes his head no.

“Okay,” Mom says, giving him a heads up.  “I’m going to tell them.  Hang in there with me.”

Jesus starts to count how often the chair rocks under his breath.  Just for something to do.  Because he needs a distraction from what he knows his coming.

“Jesus is having a hard time staying safe.”  

(He’s still counting the number of times that the chair rocks.  Ever since Pearl suggested it, Jesus has found that it helps him to deal with high stress situations and also to stay present.)  Moms have gone over all this with him already, so he knows what will be said.  He okayed everything beforehand.  So there won’t be surprises.  

“Meaning what?” Brandon asks.  

“Meaning that lately, with higher stress, Jesus has been struggling.  He’s been hurting himself,” she says softly, giving Jesus a squeeze of support.

“Why?”

“Well, our friend Pearl put it pretty well.  She said that a person doesn’t hurt themselves because they want to.  It’s because they’re trying to cope.  Jesus wanted you guys to know that as well.  It’s more complicated than something that he can just decide to stop doing.  But he does want the healthy part of him to be strong again, so he asked that you guys help him, too.  So that all of us are working together to help him.”

“Just like when you helped me when I fell?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah, buddy…” Jesus offers.  “Kinda like that.”

“First, Jesus needs to know he can trust you guys to always treat him with respect, especially with this.  So again.  No jokes.  No sarcasm about it.  Absolutely no teasing him.  We want you to get used to asking him some questions.  Jesus came up with these, because they’re some he’ll be able to answer.” Mom continues.

By now, Jesus is tuning in a little bit more.  These are the questions he picked.  So he’s heard them off and on for most of today already:

“The first question is ‘Are you feeling safe right now?’

“Are you feeling safe right now?” Frankie echoes.

“I am,” Jesus answers, even though he knows Frankie’s probably just repeating it because she likes how it sounds.  “I’m with Mom, so I’m safe.”

“That was a great example, you two,” Mama praises.

She goes over the next two.  ‘Do you have anything unsafe with you?’ and ‘Can you turn your pockets out?’  These two are for the older sibs to ask, not Frankie.  She’s bummed about that.

“You can ask Jesus ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’ Mama encourages.  But by now, Frankie’s feeling shy.  Jesus gets it.  He’s feeling kinda shy himself.

Mom takes over explaining what needs to happen if Jesus answers that he’s not safe, or that he can’t be honest.  “This part is for all of you.  The most important thing to do, Frankie, is to get Mama or me.  The rest of you big kids.  If you can ask Jesus to sit in a chair like this one, or the one in his room, and then stay with him while you call or text us.  That’s the most ideal.”

By now, Jesus has moved onto breathing and trying to count his breaths.  It’s boring.  But it’s supposed to be.

“If Jesus is hurting himself, Mama and I will help Jesus by staying calm and making sure he stays with us until he’s calm too.  That he knows where he is and isn’t feeling too sad or angry or scared.” Mom continues.

“And Frankie?  We know Jesus is your buddy, and we think that’s great.  But until Jesus is able to be safe all the time, we’re going to make sure that when you guys are together, somebody else is with you, too.  Just so both of you will be safe.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Frankie nods.  

Jesus doesn’t know if she’s taking it in and doesn’t care or if she’s just done with sitting still and wants to go play or what.  But he guesses they’ll see.

“We’re not going to blame Jesus or be disgusted if he struggles with this again.  We’re going to support him.  Yes?” Mom asks.

All the kids say yes at different times and they all look like they can’t wait to leave.  Jesus can’t wait either.

Finally, Moms say Porch Time is over.

Mariana walks over to where Jesus is getting out of the chair and opens up her arms.  He stands and walks into her hug.  It feels good and safe.  Not dominating or weird or bad.  Mariana’s been super quiet the whole time.  Their twin telepathy must’ve malfunctioned because Jesus hasn’t been able to tell what she’s thinking.

“What’s this for?” he asks, mid-hug.

“Because I want you to know that I’m here.” she says quietly.

“Okay,” he nods.

–

That night, Mom changes his bandaids once he’s showered.  He had to do it with an actual timer, so that when his phone played a really annoying alarm, everybody knew he should be moving toward coming out of the bathroom.  He’s sworn up and down that he’ll do his best to leave the old bandaids alone and if they fall off, not to get lost looking at what went down there.

It helps that Mama is totally annoying outside the door, asking if he can hear her.

It really does stop him from doing anything stupid.

When Mom fixes his bandaids, Jesus has to just look somewhere else.  But it turns out, she has something interesting to talk to him about, so it’s not hard to stay focused on her voice and her face.

“I happen to know that you received a package in the mail today from a certain Minnesota friend of ours…”

“Pearl?” he asks.  All of a sudden, the text she sent makes sense:

_Do not open alone!  Skype me first!_

“She went to the post office yesterday.  How is it here already?” Jesus wonders.

“I want you to open the box in front of someone.  Yes?  A safe person.  I don’t want you trying to get into it with scissors or a knife or anything like that.  If you need something like that, come to us, and we’ll help you.”

“Pearl already asked if I’d Skype her.”

“I stand by what I said.  If you can’t get into it tool-free, you come to me or Mama, or any of your sibs and ask for help.”

“What if I used it in front of you only?  Just to open a box?  Not by myself and not for a bad reason…”

Mom’s done with his arms and for a while she just holds his gaze.  “Do you think,” she starts, after waiting a long time, “that would feel safe for you?”

“No,” he admits.

“We want the healthy part of you strong, yes?  So that means we need to say no to things that are not healthy.”

Jesus ducks his head.  His ears burn.

“Hey.  Head up, my baby.  Be proud of yourself.  You were perfectly honest with me.  And I am so proud of you.”

Jesus meets her eyes, and wipes a hand across his own.  Since he’s not shut down all the time, tears come at the weirdest times.  He hates it.

“I need your word, Jesus. You’ll open this box in front of Pearl?”

“Yes.  I promise.”

“And you’ll ask for backup if you need help getting into it?  So solo missions with scissors or knives?”

“I’ll ask for help.  I won’t go solo,” he says, holding her gaze.

“Okay.  It’s on the table outside your door, because it wouldn’t fit in your mailbox.”

–

Jesus goes upstairs and sees the box right away, addressed to him in Pearl’s block-style handwriting.  He’s on his way in when something else catches his eye.  Jesus brings that in his room, too.

But he’s totally focused on the box.  He forgot to text Pearl back, but he signs on Skype and hopes she’s still awake.

He sees her still signed in and calls.

“Oh my gosh!  There you are!  I feel like it’s been forever!” Pearl says like they didn’t just video chat last night.  But that does feel like ages ago.

“Sorry.  Mom just told me about your package.  And she made me swear up and down that I’d open it in front of somebody.  And if I can’t get it open with my bare hands, I have to call for backup because…safety.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” she says, like everything is totally normal.  (Like he is totally normal.  It helps.)

“It helps to see you,” he admits.  Even though he’s super curious about what’s in the box, he wants to make sure Pearl knows that he appreciates her.

“It helps to see you, too.  I’ve been…concerned…” she admits.

“Yeah.  It’s been a busy day.  A heavy day.  But I’m looking forward to whatever’s in here,” he tells her honestly.  “Anything I should know?  It’s not, like, a snake, or something, right?”

“What kind of a friend would I be if I sent you a snake?” Pearl chides.

“Can I open this?” Jesus asks, impatient.

“Yes, you don’t need my permission,” Pearl insists.

Jesus goes for it.  Luckily, the post office didn’t tape the hell out of the box, so it is possible for him to get into it without backup.

Inside, a sealed envelope greets him, along with an honest-to-God wrapped package.  “You get that it’s not my birthday, right?” he asks, totally serious.

“Yes. I understand that.  A gift doesn’t have to have a reason.  Remember?” Pearl asks.

Still, the idea of it kinda makes him nervous.  He opens the envelope first, shaking out the piece of chocolate that says for him to eat it, and smiles, relaxing.

“Seriously?  This is already awesome.  Can I eat this right now?”

“Of course, and I hope it didn’t melt!” Pearl worries.

Jesus shakes it out of its wrapper.  Holds it up.  “Looks okay.”  He takes a bite.  Then follows it up with the entire rest of the candy.  “Tastes even better,” he says around a mouthful.

Next, he opens the letter, and reads quietly to himself.  When he’s done, he looks up at Pearl, troubled.  “So…you wrote this yesterday…but before last night.”

“I wrote it early yesterday morning, yeah,” she confirms.

“So, does it still apply?” Jesus asks.  “What you said in here about not thinking differently of me now?”

“Yes.  It still applies.  No matter what happens.  I respect you and I’m your friend.”

It’s finally time for the wrapped one.  Jesus carefully takes off the paper, and his eyes get big.  A lump the size of a fist lodges in his throat.  He just looks at Pearl, clutching the box.  Loving it just as much as the message on it in her handwriting.

“You okay?”

He nods, speechless.  

“I know you said the backpack was important to you and that these are something you hadn’t seen in awhile.  Something you and Isaac shared.  I hope I didn’t overstep.  I just thought you might want these as a way to hold onto him.”

Jesus nods again.  Swallows.

“Yeah, I do.  I really do.  Thank you.  This helps.”

He leans down on the floor and picks up the other thing that caught his eye outside his bedroom door.  It’s a backpack.  Plain.  Brown.  It looks like one Mama used to carry around as a diaper bag for Frankie.  He opens it up.

“Oh, holy shit.”

“What?  What else do you have?” Pearl asks, confused.

Inside the bag is a bottle of water, and small bags of chips and trail mix and granola bars.  On top of it is a note, in Mama’s handwriting.

 

_Jesus,_

_So sorry I did not ask you or talk to you about your other bag first.  I know this does not make up for the pain my actions caused, but I hope it’s a start.  Keep this in your room.  No one will throw it out._

_Love, Mama_

 

“Mama got me a replacement backpack.  It’s one of hers with some food in it that I can keep.  I said in therapy that I wished she’d done that before she did anything to the other one.  I guess she heard me.”

“I guess she did,” Pearl nods.

“I’m gonna go.  But seriously, thank you.  Like, beyond thank you for the package and the letter and the chocolate.  More than that, though…thank you for being there last night.  For not blaming me or making me feel bad.”

“Of course not.  Anytime you need me, you just call.”

“I will.  Bye, Pearl.”

“Bye, Jesus.”

Immediately, Jesus adds the box of cupcakes to the bag.  And then goes to find the original letter he wrote to Isaac’s mom, and the picture of him that she sent back.  Jesus puts everything in the bag and uses the drawstring to close it.

He finally has a place for all of his Isaac stuff.  A place he doesn’t have to worry will just disappear.

Maybe now he can really start to deal with the things that are really hurting him.


	46. Chapter 46

It’s been three days since Jesus and his family left to go back to California, and Pearl still finds herself at the window, peering out toward Frank’s now empty cabin.

This morning, about 8 AM (even earlier in California, because he keeps early hours just like Pearl does) Frank calls.

“Yes?”

“Pearl?  It’s Frank.  Just checking in.  My brood didn’t scare you too badly, did they?”

“No.  They were fine.  I met Jesus,” she offers, hopeful.

“You did, huh?  He didn’t get you down, did he?  Keep telling him he ought to be more positive.”

“He’s great.  Positive all the time doesn’t suit me,” Pearl offers, rising to Jesus’s defense.

“Well, then, you found the right person to be around.  That kid’s never happy.  Not since that bastard got a hold of him…” Frank grumbles.

There’s an awkward silence while Pearl holds her tongue, not giving into the impulse to gossip about her friend.  Finally, she settles on, “Thanks for checking in.”

–

Jesus can feel in his soul when it’s 6:00.  He doesn’t have to get up this early for school, and recently has been able to fall back asleep until later.  But ever since they got back from vacation, Jesus can’t sleep in later, even if he tries.

He keeps having these weird-ass dreams.  The first night they got back, the dream was that Jesus was zipped in a bag and couldn’t breathe.  And there was another bag.  And Jesus knew that one had Isaac in it.  Jesus dreamed of suffocating.  And woke up not able to get his breath.

The night before last, Jesus dreamed that He came back to life, but only Jesus knew about it.  He had a real human body and everything.  He messed with Jesus right in public where anyone could see but nobody  _did_  see.  It was like Jesus was the invisible one, not Him, even though He was basically a ghost.

This time was the worst yet because, Jesus dreamed that He was the security screening dude at LAX.  That He was the one to pick Jesus out and mess with him.  Just like in real life, Stef didn’t help, even though she was supposed to be his person.  Lena didn’t help even though she was his mom.  Both of them were supposed to keep him safe and neither of them did anything.  They just turned their heads away.  Like they didn’t want to see.  Like they were so disgusted.

It makes Jesus wish that he was never in this family.  Then they wouldn’t have to worry about him acting weird about totally regular shit like airport screenings.  That happened in real life, but he needs to stop dreaming about it, because the fallout’s real.

Now, Jesus is sore everywhere.  His hair hurts because He pulled it super hard in the dream.  Everything below his waist…Jesus wishes that could all just die because then he wouldn’t have to feel those parts ever again.

Somewhere, he gets that they’re body memories.  He remembers Dr. H. telling him about those a long time ago when he was thirteen.  Jesus thought for sure they would be gone by now, but so far, no such luck.

He’s just hanging out, staring at the ceiling, when Lena’s voice scares the crap out of him:

“Jesus?  Come sit down in the living room with me.”

Heart pounding, Jesus gets up.  Doesn’t grab anything else.  So he’s just in a tee shirt and sweats.  He’s all the way downstairs before he realizes he usually has a hoodie or a blanket.  Especially now.  Looking at his bare arms is like the worst kind of trigger.  So he tries not to look there.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, hesitant.

“Everything is okay, yes,” Lena confirms.  She sits down in the big chair.  “If you’re comfortable, would you like to sit down with me?  Talk?”

Nervous, Jesus looks around him.

“Callie won’t be up for another half hour, and all the rest of the kids get up after her.  We have a little time, if you’d like to.”

Jesus crosses his arms, holding himself.

Lena stands up and walks to the couch, where Jesus left his hoodie last night when Stef was fixing his bandaids.  Lena picks it up and offers it to him.

Warily, he takes it from her, and puts it on.  Feels a little better.  A little bit more here.

He doesn’t want to sit in the big chair but he comes close and perches on the arm of it.  It feels safer to be up here, and for Lena to be down there.  Jesus can still feel the rocking.

“Why are you up?” he asks.

“Because I wanted a chance to talk to you this morning.  Just the two of us.”

“How come?  I didn’t do anything.  I’m safe.  Look, I don’t have anything unsafe at all.” Jesus stands up and pulls the pockets of his hoodie, his sweats, inside out so she can see.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Jesus, but that’s not why.  I know I hurt you by taking your bag without asking you first.  And I want you to know you can talk to me about it.”

“I got the new one,” he offers.

“Yeah?” Lena asks.

“It helps.  I got more snacks from Pearl, and put them inside.  She wrote on the box to not throw them out.  So…don’t, okay?  Please.  They won’t go bad.  They’ll probably keep forever.”

“Jesus.  I hear you.  I won’t throw any of your food away.  If it’s nonperishable, you can keep it for as long as you need it.  And if it’s something that does go bad, you and I will talk about what needs to happen to it together, before I do anything.”

“Okay,” he lets out a breath.

When it’s 6:30 and Callie’s annoying alarm sounds, Jesus gets up from the arm of the chair.  Stumbles.

He still feels so sore.  

It’s hard to move.

–

If Pearl’s honest, it’s been really hard having so much distance between herself and Jesus.  Seeing him struggle but not being able to actually be there to help.  Especially, as so much of their interaction was face to face.  To adjust to this new way is taking time, and patience Pearl isn’t sure she possesses.

She had to really force herself to keep doing her own self care.  If only so she’ll still be able to help Jesus if he needs her.  Pearl’s actually okay, for the time being, except for the nonsense her mother keeps spewing.  Pearl has stopped picking up her calls.

Her mother, of course, is livid, and thinks Pearl is making a big deal out of nothing.

The last voice mail from her said:  _You can’t keep punishing me for having opinions, Pearl.  It isn’t fair.  I let you have opinions all the time.  Just because you want to get back your lost youth with Stefanie’s 16-year-old troubled child, is no reason to shut me out.  Call me.  I mean it._

At this point, Pearl just wishes her mother would lose her number.

–

Breakfast is chaos.

So many people in the kitchen.  Everybody’s home.  Jesus isn’t usually awake for this, or if he is, he doesn’t come downstairs until Mariana, Callie, Jude and Brandon and Stef leave.  It’s so much less to deal with.

The minute Jesus steps in the room, all the conversation stops dead.  All of them are staring.  He gets it.  He probably looks gross.  He hasn’t showered.  And he probably needs to before he can eat.  Looks like everybody else showered.  Well, except Frankie.  She’s sharing a chair with Jude, and they’re both eating eggs off his plate.

“Morning, Jesus,” Stef says, like everything is normal.  But all Jesus can see is the way her eyes slid away from him during the security screening dream.  It’s like she was embarrassed by him.

He swallows.

“Sit down,” Lena invites, pulling out a chair.  

Jesus hesitates.  “I can shower.”

“Definitely. You can shower, but sit down and eat some breakfast first,” Lena insists.

It’s weird sitting in the middle of Stef and Lena like this.  To have everybody else talk to each other and not him.

“Jesus, you can eat,” Mariana offers bluntly.

“Hands, love,” Stef prompts, and Jesus realizes they’re in his lap, under the table.  

Jesus moves them to where they can be seen.  He feels ridiculously exposed and embarrassed.  His ears are burning.  He feels like throwing up.

The only reason he does eat is because Lena keeps cuing him to pick up his toast.  To take a bite.  To pick up his bacon.  To take a bite.  To pick up his fork.  Get some eggs.  Take a bite.  Eventually, he can do it without being told, but by then almost everybody else has left the table.  Only him, Stef and Lena are left.

When he’s done, Jesus gets the hell out of there.  

In no time, Jesus is in the hall upstairs. Brandon rushes past Jesus, basically body-checking him.  Doesn’t slow down.  Doesn’t apologize.  Just keeps running toward the stairs.

(Hands on his body.  Jesus can’t move.  Can’t breathe.)

“Dude!  Space!” he exclaims, way more angry than the situation calls for, but he can’t stop it.

“Sorry.  I mean, are you okay?  Are you, like,  _safe_?” Brandon asks, all hyper.

“Not everything’s about this!  I still should be able to walk down the damn hallway without having people all up in my space!” Jesus exclaims.  His voice is super loud and kinda hoarse.  

Brandon doesn’t hang around, he bolts downstairs, like he’s late for class, which he probably is.  

Jesus paces the hall.  His skin crawling.  It feels like he’s vibrating.  He’s this close to just saying screw it and destroying his one whole day - 33 and a half whole hours - self harm free and just letting himself have it, but Stef and Lena are here.

In his face.  In his space.

“What’s going on, Jesus?” Stef asks.

“You let him get away with everything!” Jesus yells.

“Brandon said he bumped into you.  Is that right?” Lena asks.

How can Jesus explain that what he felt was so much more than a bump?  That it’s not some minor thing?  That it’s huge?  That it feels like all the people touching him, in the dream, and in real life. Jesus’s body was already so sore from the stupid dreams.  Now it’s like he’s about to come unhinged over something dumb.

But he can’t downplay it anymore.  Because he’s feeling vulnerable and violated as hell.  And he can’t let them ignore it.

“Why did you let him do that?!  You didn’t even try to stop him!  Didn’t tell him to slow down!  Nothing!  How am I supposed to believe I matter when you just  _let people touch me?!_ ” Jesus rants.

“We didn’t see, love.  If we’d seen, we would have told Brandon to slow down,” Stef tries to placate him.  It only makes Jesus more pissed.

“No, you wouldn’t! You’d just stand there and watch!  Or look away….or whatever!  You’re supposed to protect me!  And you didn’t!”

“Jesus…honey,” Lena tries. “Come downstairs with us.  Let’s see if we can’t talk about this.  Calm down a little.”

He backs up, eyes flashing.  For once, it’s not fear driving his actions.  It’s anger.  He ducks into his room, knowing Stef and Lena can’t follow him there.  He needs his damn phone.  Tries to text Pearl but his damn hands are shaking too much.  It’s easier just to tap the Skype app and hope she’s there.

–

Pearl’s just sent Jesus a text when her Skype starts ringing.  She rushes over and clicks on it.  Happy to see that, apparently, they’re both thinking of each other at the same moment.

“Hey!” she greets, sending a smile his way before his own expression registers.  She seems to have caught him in the middle of a conversation.  Pearl can hear Stef and Lena in the background asking him to come back and talk to them.  But  _he_  called  _her_.  So what is happening right now?

“I’m getting my phone!” he says, too loud.

“Jesus?” Pearl asks.  “What’s going on?”

He’s pale, and shaking.  And he’s angry.  Pearl’s never seen him like this.  Shut down and disconnected, yes.  But maybe this is what he’s trying to avoid or tamp down on…

“They’re not…doing…anything!  They didn’t!  They just  _let_  him! You didn’t protect me!” he screams at them, and the sound of it raises the hair off Pearl’s arms.

“Listen to me.  It’s Pearl.  I’ve got you.  I am right here.  Take a deep breath for me?”  

She waits while he does, hoping that hearing her on the phone with him will allay Stef and Lena’s worries at least temporarily.

“Now.  You’re mad.  I can tell, and you’re allowed to be mad.  But I need you to slow down, so I can understand what’s going on.  You’re feeling unprotected?” Pearl asks, her heart breaking.  (Seriously.  This is the last thing Jesus needs.)

He nods.  His breathing still a little ragged.  Eyes dark.

“Okay.  I hear you.  Keep taking slow breaths for me?”  

Jesus does, and she waits some more to see if he can get any calmer.  The screen on his end is shaking so she guesses his hands are shaking, too.

“This is stupid…” he mutters.  “I shouldn’t have called.”  Self-doubt is evident all over his face.

Pearl needs to squash that before it gets overwhelming.

“You did the right thing,” she reassures.  “Remember?  I said you should call me if you need me. You did that.  I always want to hear from you.  Can you tell me something?”

He nods.

“What happened that’s got you so shaken?” she asks, breathing deep herself.  Gracie’s here, thank goodness, or Pearl would be a mess.  

“It’s nothing,” Jesus denies.

Pearl can see by the agony on his face that Jesus is wishing he could just shove all his feelings back inside and be done with it.  But that’s what’s hung him up in the past.

“Can you be any more honest than you’re being?” she presses gently.  “Because I know for a fact that our reactions?  They make sense.  Okay?  So tell me honestly.”

“Brandon, like, body-checked me…” Jesus manages.  He still looks pale.  Still looks shaky.  Still keeps sending dark looks somewhere off camera, to where, she’s assuming Stef and Lena are.

Pearl winces.

“And they said they didn’t see it and that’s why they didn’t do anything, but they did see it!  It happened in front of everybody and they didn’t do anything!”

Pearl’s mind is trying desperately to keep up.  “Are we still talking about Brandon, Jesus?”

“No…” he offers, hoarse.

Something about the way he says the word gives Pearl goosebumps again.

“Who else did you need them to protect you from?” she asks, willing her voice to stay steady.

“The dude in the airport,” he whispers, looking haunted.

Pearl lets out a breath, knowing that the security screening had obviously been a trigger.  It would be for her, too, no question.  Regardless of protocol or explanation.  She knows, from flying as a young teen, that there usually is no explanation given, and that as people of color, she and Jesus would be more likely to be picked out than say, Stef or Brandon.

“That makes sense.” Pearl goes quiet, and types in the Skype chat window:

_Did your moms explain what was happening?_

Jesus shakes his head.

_What did they do when it was happening?_

_Nothing.  Just let him do it.  Just stood there and let him do it._   Jesus types back.

“Do you feel comfortable bringing me closer so I can talk to your moms?” she asks.

Slowly,  Pearl can see the background change around Jesus as he walks forward.  Beads clink around her and then, she can see Stef and Lena, just behind Jesus.

“Jesus, is it okay if I share with your moms what you shared with me?  About what Brandon running into you made you think of?”

“Yes.  I can’t,” he admits.

“You don’t have to.  Listen, you guys,” she says to Stef and Lena.  “Jesus feels really unprotected because you stood by and let airport security screen him, and you didn’t protect him from that.”  Pearl explains, unapologetic. No sugar-coating.  Jesus needs Pearl to worry about his feelings, not theirs right now.

“Honey, I explained to you what would be happening, didn’t I?” Stef asks.

“No,” Jesus rasps.  “Not that time. That time you just hurried me through and said to take stuff off like my hoodie and my shoes and then the dude told me to step aside and started…and you guys just…”

“Oh, Jesus…” Lena gasps.

“You said it wasn’t gonna happen out here.  You promised that nobody would mess with me again.  That nobody could make me take stuff off or touch me without asking, but you let him!”

“Pearl?” Stef interrupts.  “I think Jesus is going to have to call you back.”

“No,” Jesus insists.  “You don’t get to just decide things about me and what I want!”

“Jesus, I am your mother, and part of being your mother is doing what’s best for you.  Making the calls that are tough.  You need to hang up with Pearl, because we need to call Holly right now and talk to her about this.”

“You can’t just do things, though! You can’t just take away my friends!  Pearl’s my safe person!”

“And so are Mama, and Dr. Hitchens, and me,” Stef tries to reason and Pearl really wants to tell her to just be quiet and listen to what Jesus is saying.

“ _You’re not my safe person if I can’t trust you to keep me safe!_ ” Jesus exclaims, loud enough that Pearl jumps and Gracie starts nipping at her hands.

–

Jesus goes back through the beads, taking the phone (Pearl) with him.

“Let’s go to the chair again.  Are you comfortable with that?” Pearl asks.

He doesn’t respond because he’s too busy trying to get a handle on this onslaught of emotions.  But he does go to the chair and sit.  

“Hold the phone with both hands so I can see you,” she says, gently.

“I don’t want you to see me…” Jesus rasps.

“I know.”  Pearl says it like she understands how hard this is.  Like she believes him.  Like she gets this.  And not at all like she pities him.  “Just try to breathe.  I’m here with you.”

“I’m so pissed at them…” he manages after just trying to breathe and rocking for a long time.

“Honestly?  I am, too,” Pearl nods.  “You deserved for that to be handled better. You needed it explained and you needed to know that your family was understanding how hard this was for you, not that they were complicit in it being done to you.”

“Is it bad that that makes me feel better, kinda?  That you’re mad at them,  too?”

“It’s not bad at all.  It helps when we can have our feelings validated.  You deserve that.  How are you doing?  Coping okay?” Pearl asks.

Jesus sighs.  “Trying, yeah.  I don’t like screaming.  Makes me feel like He rubbed off on me too much…”

“I think you have a lot to scream about.  So it’s okay to let that out.  I know it probably feels like everything is your fault but I promise you, it’s not.  You don’t have to always be quiet and good.  You can be angry.  And frustrated.  And sad.  It feels scary right now, because it probably makes you feel out of control.”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.

“But you’re expressing yourself. Your honest feelings. And you’re not turning them against yourself.  That’s what He would want you to do.  That’s what He wanted you believing, Jesus. And every second you don’t hurt yourself? Every time you let your true feelings out?  That just makes Him get smaller and smaller.  Soon, I hope He’s just a tiny little speck.”

“He was so big, actually, though.” Jesus breathes.

“Yeah?” Pearl’s so great at just listening.  Jesus loves that about her.

“I keep dreaming about Him.  That He was the one who did the thing to me in the airport.  Right in front of my family.  And they just…looked away.  Like they didn’t wanna see it.  Like I didn’t exist at all.”

“You exist.  This is real.  You are getting stronger every day, and this part is hard right now, but there will be easier parts.  Parts that don’t suck.”

“Being your friend doesn’t suck,” he offers.

“No, being your friend is definitely the best part,” Pearl says.

And the way she says it?  Jesus believes her.


	47. Chapter 47

Jesus is still trying to breathe and rock and hold the phone up so he can see Pearl.  It’s taking everything he has.  

Moms have backed off, at least for now, and Jesus is glad.  He needs a break from them.  (Besides, Stef’s got to go to work and somebody needs to take Frankie to school.  Jesus imagines her having kept busy on Lena’s phone, where she’s learned to take pictures.)  

Pearl just waits.  After a while, she asks matter-of-factly: “What do you need right now?”

“I need choices,” he breathes.  “Thinking about them just doing things without asking is not okay.  But thinking about every single thing and trying to pick, is too much, too.”

“Okay.  You need options.  That’s totally fair.  I’m pretty awesome at this, so just prepare yourself…” Pearl warns, her eyes shining.

Jesus raises an eyebrow.  Only Pearl could get that reaction out of him right now.

“I’m going to go through these really slowly with you, okay?  So they can’t build up into everything,” she continues.

“Yeah.  That would be good.”

“Okay.  Option number one:  You keep sitting here with me.  Doing this.  Nothing changes.  How do you feel about that option?”

“Mostly good, but that still leaves a ton unresolved with my moms.”

“Okay, so we have a possible,” Pearl nods.  “Next option: You keep me on Skype with you, while your moms call your therapist.”

Jesus clenches his jaw.

“Hey.  Keep breathing.  Keep rocking.  All right?  It’s just an option.  You can say yes or no.  And I want you to tell the truth.  You’re safe.”

Jesus shakes his head just a little.

“No to option number two?” Pearl checks.

A super small nod.

“Okay.  Is this getting to be too overwhelming for you?  The options talk?”

“I think,” he nods and then bristles as His voice is back in Jesus’s head: “ _Don’t do anything like think or plan…_ ”

Jesus feels numb and like his skin is crawling all at once.  Something needs to happen or he’s gonna be blanking out.  Relapsing.  And he still feels so betrayed by Moms.

“Hey.  Are you okay?” Pearl checks.  “Jesus?  Tell me what you need.”

It takes Pearl saying it a few times for Jesus to be able to respond.  He feels far away.  And his body feels ridiculously out of control.

“Something to be different,” he finally manages.  

“What doesn’t feel right?” Pearl checks.

“My body.  My head.  I feel out of control, and kinda There again.  The rocking isn’t doing anything.”

“Okay,” Pearl thinks for a minute but has him concentrate on breathing and counting his breaths.  Eventually, she keeps talking.“Well, I’m not a therapist, but sometimes, what helps me when my body and my head don’t feel right is to move around.  I want to show you this thing I do.  If you feel comfortable, do it, too.  You can let me know if it helps.  Or if it doesn’t.  I want to hear from you.”

Jesus nods.  “I wanna try.  Tell me what to do.”

“Well, first, I need you to listen really closely to what I’m about to say:  None of this will be me telling you what to do with your body.  Because your body is yours.”  

“Your body belongs to you.  No one has the right to touch you without asking first and hearing yes,” Jesus recites absently.

“That’s true.  Could you hear what I said, though?  What I’m showing you?  I am showing you because we agree that it might help you.  I want to help you because we’re friends.  We’re equal.  This is not about me giving you orders and you following them.  You are not There.”

“This is different than Him dominating and controlling me by telling me everything to do and me not having any say.  It’s different because we’re friends and friends care what happens to each other,” Jesus says and feels a bit clearer.  It helps to hear it twice.  In Pearl’s words, and in his own.

“Yes,” Pearl nods.  “If you’re ready, I can set my phone down so you can see all of me here.”  

Jesus nods.  He sees Gracie jump down from the couch where they were sitting and stand beside Pearl in the middle of the cabin.  She sets the phone on the coffee table.  Stands in the middle of the room.

“Do you want to do this with me right away or watch?” she asks.  “Your choice.”

“I wanna do it,” Jesus says, because the damn urge is not going away.  “But I need to hold my phone, because my hands need something to do.”

“Holding your phone sounds like a wise idea for you.  I know this sucks right now, but I hope this will help.  Okay, so first…” Pearl says, and he watches her go from standing to popping a squat, balanced forward on her toes a little.

Jesus tries it.  It’s not a position he takes much.  It’s usually the one he prefers other people take, like if he’s on the couch and somebody wants to talk seriously to him, but make sure he’s present, too?  It helps if they’re close, but not touching him, and always, a little bit lower than he is.  If there were another person in the room, Jesus would totally feel submissive right now, but as long as he’s alone, this is okay.

All these thoughts zip through his head at top speed, because he has a more important objective.

“Now, where’s your focus?” she checks.

“On keeping my balance,” Jesus answers because it’s obvious.  

“Okay.  If this ever doesn’t feel safe for you, I want you to call ‘time,’ or stand up.  Whatever you need to do.  I don’t want you to ever keep doing something that doesn’t feel safe.”

“I feel it in my legs,” Jesus winces.

“Okay, well, it’s not supposed to be painful.  So we’re going to focus on growing.  I pretend that I’m a tree.  Right?  And trees grow really slowly.  They grow up, having plenty of sun and water, so they can be tall and strong.”  

Jesus watches, and joins Pearl as she starts, little by little, standing up taller and taller.

 

 

“As I do this, my feet want to go flat on the floor, so I let them.  Because at the same time trees are growing up?  Their roots are growing, too.  I think about roots growing under my feet, making me really connected to the ground.”

By now, Jesus’s feet are flat, too.  He’s still standing up, inch by inch.  It takes intense amounts of control to do this.  And all of his focus.  It does help to move his body this way.  He’s imagining roots growing under his own feet.  It makes him feel connected, too.  To the ground.  And to everything.  

Jesus actually digs this more than Dr. H’s version of grounding, which is all about sitting a certain way and being aware of his body and pressing his feet down.  He likes the feeling of growing taller and stronger but also steadier, because maybe his roots are mixed with somebody else’s roots and maybe then they’re all helping each other stay alive.

He thinks of Isaac.  Because  _stay alive_  was their thing.  Their goal.  Their mantra.  Maybe having roots like this will make Jesus and Isaac even more connected, too.

For a while, Jesus and Pearl are quiet, just growing together.  When he gets up to his full height, he feels steady.  In control.  Like he’s so much stronger than his impulses.  He has roots, damn it.  And he doesn’t have to let Him get in Jesus’s head and mess him up.

Pearl’s arms are stretched above her head like branches.  Her head is up.  

Jesus tries it, too, keeping the phone in his hands, keeping his eyes open.  Focused.

“Feet flat?” Pearl checks.

How did she know he’s compensating - trying to be taller - by standing on his toes?

“We’ve got to let our roots grow down.  They can’t do that, if we’re not firmly on the ground.  Feel it under your feet.”

“I can, yeah,” Jesus nods.

“And we can breathe, nice and slow.  And whenever you’re done, you just bring your arms, and your head back to wherever feels natural.  Keep breathing.  Keep your roots growing.”

Slowly, Jesus brings his phone back down.  Focuses straight ahead again.  “Whoa.  That was seriously intense.”

“How do you feel now?  Your body and your head?” Pearl wonders.

“Steady,” Jesus says.  “And strong.  Like I can do this.”

“What can you do?” Pearl asks.

“Talk to my moms.  Go to therapy later.  And keep myself safe,” Jesus goes through the list slowly.  “Wait.  But how do I move?  From the tree thing?  Like how to I keep that feeling, even when I’m moving through the day?”

“First of all, that’s awesome and I am so proud of you.  And secondly?  You’re not stuck here.  A tree stands in one place, but you’re not a tree.”

“No, I’m a human being,” Jesus says confidently.

“And human beings can move,” Pearl elaborates.  “So, you take a step, anywhere you want, because humans have free will.  Sometimes, as I’m walking, if I need to feel connected, I think to myself:  _Pearl, roots grow down, branches grow up_. And I think about that as I take each step, especially if it’s something hard.  And if you need so stand like a tree to have a hard conversation, then you stand like a tree.”

Jesus smiles.  “Okay.  Thanks for showing me this, Pearl.  For helping me stay safe.”

“Of course.  Anytime.  Listen.  If you need me while you’re talking to your moms?  I don’t want you to second guess yourself.  Just call me.”

“I will,” Jesus promises, and hangs up.

As he walks to the hall to find Moms, Jesus finds himself tuning in, not to His voice, but to Pearl’s, soft and steady in his head:   _Jesus, your roots grow down, your branches grow up._

–

That afternoon, in therapy with Moms, Jesus feels so ready to talk to them.  Mom had needed to go into work, but promised to get off early in order to go to therapy with him.  She kept her word.  She’s here.

It’s a start.

Moms notice a difference in him, for sure.  Even though it’s been a few hours since he did the tree thing with Pearl, Jesus still kinda feels like he’s doing it.  With every step, growing more connected to the ground.  Getting stronger and more steady.

He gets this isn’t gonna fix everything.  But at least, maybe it can help him get in the right headspace to talk to Moms and get real about how tough things have really been.

“I feel really, really upset still.” Jesus offers.

“Upset can cover a couple of emotions.  Would you say you feel more sad or more angry right now?”

“More sad,” Jesus admits.

“Why do you feel sad?” Dr. H. asks.  “Can you tell your Moms?”

Jesus imagines his roots growing down, branches growing up, even though he’s sitting.  He looks them in the eyes.  But mostly Mom:

“I feel sad because you didn’t explain about the guy at the airport again.  You just told me, ‘ _Take your shoes off,’ ‘take your sweatshirt of_ f.’  And made me hurry.”

“Jesus?  Excuse me for interrupting.  But can you tell me, for clarity’s sake, what happened at the airport?”

His mouth goes dry.  Jesus looks desperately from Mom to Mama.  If they don’t know how to tell her this, then Jesus is screwed.  Because all that’s in Jesus’s mind right now are words that are anything but clear:  _Something Else_ ,  _messed with_ , and some language that he doesn’t feel comfortable using in front of Moms.

“Jesus got selected for security screening at the airport,” Mom passes along at Jesus’s nod.

“All right.  I understand.  What else do you want to tell your mothers, Jesus?”

Jesus blinks back tears.   _Do trees cry?_  he thinks absently.

Pearl’s there, in Jesus’s head, offering the truth gently:  _No, but humans do.  Humans have feelings and you should feel all your feelings whenever you need to._

So, for the first time in a while, he lets the tears fall.  He’s scared as hell.  But maybe it won’t be so bad.  He can just see what happens.  Jesus doesn’t feel in danger right now.  Knows the office is a safe space, where he won’t be made fun of.

“I wanna tell you that I’m dealing with so much right now.  I was dealing with so much already when we were on vacation.  I was already not thinking straight.  So to have that happen to me with no explanation.  No support?  I kept expecting you to stop it.  Or at least to be able to hear you tell me you were there or it would be over soon.  But none of those things happened.  So now I just feel dirty and gross and worthless all the time.  Like I deserved it.  Because I must’ve if my own family didn’t stop it, right?”

“No, you absolutely did not deserve it,” Mom says, her voice stressed.  “I did not handle that correctly at all.  And I am so sorry for that.  You deserve to feel protected all the time.  To  _be_  protected all the time, my baby.”

“You aren’t dirty or gross or worthless, Jesus. But I understand that being touched without consent does bring up those feelings,” Mama offers.  “He’s dirty and gross and worthless, for hurting you.”

“If you guys really think that, then I need you to treat me like you know it’s actually true.  ‘Cause if you stand by when something like that’s happening and don’t explain it?  For me?  It feels exactly the same as what He did to me.  It makes me disappear.  It makes me disconnect from everything and everybody.  Even with an explanation it would be hard to manage, but the way it happened?  Feels unbearable.”

Jesus takes a deep breath.  Keeps talking.

“And this?” he pulls up his sleeves to show the bandaids.  “This is part of that.  Because this only comes with super intense levels of dissociation - at least the first time.  After that, it’s like I have to manage the beast I woke up.  ‘Cause it just wants me to keep it up and keep coping that way because it feels like it works for a bit.  And I want any distraction.  Any release from feeling like it’s right for people to abuse me.”

Jesus pulls down his sleeves.  Breathes.  ( _Roots down.  Branches up.  I am human_.)

“But I  _don’t_  deserve it.  Because I’m a person.  I know that’s true because Pearl told me a few hours ago, but I need you guys to tell me.  To do things that make me know you actually believe it.  Because however many times you can think about telling me I don’t deserve to be hurt, or I’m not gross, or worthless, or dumb?  I’ve heard the opposite from Him probably a billion more times.  Telling me I’m a dumbass, I am nothing, I’m just a warm body.  Telling me He gets to do whatever He wants to do to me because you guys don’t want me anymore anyway.  If you guys are my safe people, I need to actually  _feel safe_  with you.”

Nobody passes him tissue until he asks for it, because being offered them can be a trigger.  Tissues are kinda like napkins.  Also, it can feel like whoever’s with him is urging him to stop having feelings.  When nods for the box and takes a few, Jesus uses one, and twists the rest in his hands.

“I don’t like feeling like it’s on me to protect myself.  It makes me feel confused.  Like I’m There.  And when I feel like that, I feel like I don’t matter and everything He ever said was true and everything He ever did was right.  I feel disconnected and that brings up a lot of those same feelings.  And I go looking for weapons to protect myself…but I end up using them…on me.”

“Are you safe right now, Jesus?” Dr. H. asks.

Jesus looks her in the eyes.  “Yes.  I’m safe right now.  I’m just explaining how not feeling protected is a huge thing for me.  And if I feel it?  I’m not feeling clear or calm, or like I can advocate for myself because I don’t feel like I have any rights at all.”

  
“So, would you say you need your moms to be more plugged in?” Dr. H. asks.

Jesus pictures them like TV sets.  There’s a poem about it in a kids book of poetry he remembers from when he and Mariana were still in foster care, but living with the Fosters.  It was about a kid who watched so much TV he grew a plug like a tail and his face turned into a screen.  At seven years old, Jesus totally bought it when Moms teased him about the possibility of that happening to him if he watched too much TV.

“To notice me more, yeah…” he nods.  “Because otherwise, I feel really alone.”

“That is the last thing we want,” Mama reassures.

Before they leave the office, Dr. H. has them all work on different things: Jesus gets to look over the plan that he and Dr. H. made when he was thirteen.  (Back then he couldn’t think about calling it a plan because that made him think about getting away.  Instead he called it “The Things I Need.”)  About specific things he needed from Moms, boundaries and things he found difficult.  They went through it slowly, and Dr. H. asked if there was anything Jesus felt he needed to add.  She told him that before they left, they were going to review it, so Moms would have it fresh in their minds again.  Jesus liked seeing all of their names on the lines at the bottom.  

Thinks maybe they should sign again.  (Maybe there should be a whole new Things I Need…)

And Moms are writing Jesus some kind of letters that they are going to go over together before they leave, too.

When they’re finished, Jesus picks to go over the letters first, and The Things I Need last, so it’s the most fresh in Moms’ brains.

Mama reads first:

_Things I Need You to Know.  (Things I Know for Sure About You)_

  1. _You are human  
_
  2. _You deserve to be protected.  Always.  
_
  3. _You have the right to feel your feelings and to express them out loud.  
_
  4. _I have always wanted you.  I will always want you.  
_
  5. _I love you.  That will never change.  
_
  6. _Nothing that has been done to you diminishes your worth as a human being.  
_
  7. _You deserve to have food.  No one has the right to throw it away without talking to you first.  Not even me.  (I’m still so sorry.)  
_
  8. _You and Mariana made me a mom.  You are my first son.  I will always cherish that and the gift you are to me.  
_
  9. _If you need to be held and rocked, I want to hold you and rock you.  We missed out on a lot of that time.  It’s never an inconvenience for me.  There is never a bad time.  
_
  10. _You are enough.  You are strong.  You are brave.  You are honest.  You are kind.  You are tender.  You are gentle.  You are loving.  You are loved.  
_



_Love,_

_Mama_

Mom’s letter is even longer.

_Jesus_

_My baby, I need you to know that I always want you to be safe.  I always want you to feel protected.  If you ever don’t feel that, or if it’s not clear, please know that is my mistake, not yours._

_I know I can be harsh and loud.  I can be brash and strong-willed.  But my will should never overshadow your right to have everything you need to feel safe and protected at a given time.  And if you are not feeling human, love?  That means you are not feeling safe._

_You are human, Jesus.  You are important and smart and so emotionally in tune.  You have so many great strengths.  But I need to remember that you have also been hurt.  And that my being in a hurry, my job, my goals, my schedule, cannot be bigger than you, my love, feeling like a priority to me.  Because your safety and protection is the number one priority to me.  I am so sorry for not handling the situation at the airport better with you, Jesus._

_You’re right.  I needed to take the time to explain to you what was going to happen, instead of rushing you along.  I should have been more aware that talking to you a week ago about airport security protocol was not going to necessarily carry through for you, as the airport is an already stressful place for you._

_If there is a next time, I promise, I will do better.  I will talk you through exactly what to expect as deliberately as I can.  You’ll be able to ask questions if you have them.  And I will be there to reassure you, for you to look to, so you’ll know what is happening to you is not the same thing as what you’ve gone through before._

_We can discuss this as frequently as you need to.  I don’t want you to feel like you have to bottle up your feelings to spare me, or Mama or anyone. (If there are any similar situations where you need my support - I’m thinking, perhaps, the doctor’s office if you’re sick? - I promise to talk you through those as well.)_

_I promise to check in with you more, regarding not only your physical safety with regard to yourself, but about your feeling safe and protected in general, by me and Mama._

_Your feelings are valid.  I respect you.  I love you very much._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Jesus doesn’t cry when he hears Moms read their letters.  Maybe it’s because they’re still hypothetical to him.  Until there’s some actual follow through, it’ll be hard to put his trust in anything actually being different.

Before they leave, him, Dr. H. and Moms go over The Things I Need:

_I need my boundaries (Moms have a list) to be respected all the time._

_I need clear explanations if there is anything that seems like it might go against my boundaries.  I need to know why.  And how it’s different.  I need reassurance and for you to look at me in the eyes even if I can’t look back._

_I need to always feel safe and protected.  If I don’t it’s hard for me to tell you.  So check in or we can have a signal or something (I can text you an emoji) so you can know I don’t feel safe and come and protect me.  (Please.)_

_I need my food to not be thrown away._

_I need my backpack to not be taken away._

_I need another bracelet still._

_I need to know (no limits on how much) that you love me.  Respect me.  See me.  Know that I’m a person.  And know good things about me.  If you just know them privately and never tell me, that doesn’t feel true.  I need you to tell me. A lot._

_I need you not to dominate or control me.  Please do not take my choice or my safe people away from me especially if I need them to cope._

_I need to be held and rocked so I don’t do it to myself, but I feel embarrassed needing it.  I need you guys to offer if you mean it, and to keep it private from the other kids.  And don’t stop trying if I say no one time.  Sometimes I say no because I can now.  Just to see if it’s still true that I can say it and it is still respected._

_I need you to know I am grieving.  I miss my friend every day._

_I need you to know Pearl is important to me and I need to have access to her not blocked, even if I get in trouble for something._

_I need you to know that riding in a car with bags was hard.  The airport was hard.  The vacation was really hard.  It might take a long time to get through all the things that happened there.  I need you to want to listen if I need to talk about these things._

_Jesus Adams Foster                               January 7, 2015_

___________________________________________________

_Stefanie Adams Foster    January 7, 2015_

___________________________________________________

_Lena Adams Foster                   January 7, 2015_

___________________________________________________

All these years later, and it still catches Jesus by surprise: how writing his real name can feel like an act of defiance.  

But seeing his Moms names, acknowledging and agreeing to a thing that Jesus wrote?

That means way more to him than any letter.


	48. Chapter 48

Jesus isn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, between Dr. H’s office and now?  He’s stopped feeling the effects of the tree thing.

Saying all that out loud to Moms and then coming home, to a house loud with chaos because Jude and B are in some epic pissing match over Brandon finding Jude using Brandon’s laptop and somehow deleting whatever Brandon was working on?  Well, it’s anything but ideal for Jesus.

In no time, he’s feeling smaller and smaller.  Like a tree growing in reverse.  Jesus imagines all his roots pulling up.  His tree getting shriveled.

He just stands there, frozen in the kitchen, while Brandon yells at Jude.  And then at Moms.

“Well?  Aren’t you going to  _do_  anything?  He deleted the entire new song I’m working on, Mom!”

( _Do something!  This is your prisoner_!)

“ _It wasn’t on purpose_!” Jude yells back, emotion making him over-enunciate every word.  “I just needed to use your laptop to do homework because I spilled water on mine and it was drying out!  Your thing was up and I meant to just shrink the screen and open another tab.  And I guess it closed and didn’t save.  Seriously, I’m sorry, but it’s not like you can’t redo it in like a  _day_ …” Jude scoffs.

Brandon’s across the room in like, three steps, and just like that, Jesus has stepped in front of Jude.  Moms might be comfortable just standing by while this is happening but Jesus isn’t.  

The energy in the room changes.  Goes still.  But the air around Jesus feels like it’s crackling with tension.  

Still, Brandon’s standing there.  Not backing off.  “This isn’t your fight, Jesus.”

Jesus wishes he weren’t locked in a damn staring contest with Brandon right now.  His body’s shaking and he needs to have something in his hands.  Thinks about the hacksaw Isaac had, tossed across the room like it was nothing.  Jesus is in the kitchen.  There are so many things he could grab, if he could just get one.

“Okay, Brandon.  Go and sit down,” Mom insists.

Even without Brandon there, Jesus still can’t stop blocking Jude.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jesus can see Jude moving, and snags him by the wrist.  Hard.  Steps in front of him again.  

Even though he knows Jude and Isaac aren’t the same, Jesus can’t let go of the mental picture of Isaac being dragged out of the kitchen by the chain around his ankle…and after that?  Jesus never saw him again.  He can’t let the same thing happen now.  

“Jesus, I remember what you told me on the porch,” Jude offers softly.  “You don’t have to protect me.  I’m safe.”

“Yeah, I do.  Moms didn’t so I do,” Jesus says back, breathless.  He seriously hates not being able to calm down.  To have to watch and wait and worry about everybody and everything.

“Jesus, we didn’t intervene because we know Jude is safe with Brandon.  Brandon knows violence is against our expectations. Isn’t that right?” Mom asks, turning to B at the table.

“Yeah.  Jesus, I wasn’t gonna hurt Jude.  I was just gonna yell at him some more.  From up close.”

“It doesn’t always stop there!” Jesus manages, his voice getting louder.  He’s trying to stay in control - knows that Frankie, Mariana and Callie are all at the table, too.  He doesn’t want to scare Frankie by saying too much.

“Jesus,” Mama walks up calmly.  Talks quietly so that only Jesus (and maybe Jude) can hear.  “Do you know where you are right now?”

“Yes.  I’m just saying that it doesn’t always stop there!”  Jesus gets that this isn’t rational, but he can’t stop.

“Slow down, bud.  So, to be clear, you’re at home with me and Mom, and Jude.  With Mariana and Frankie and Callie and Brandon.  You’re safe here.  Let’s have Jude go sit down.  You can let go of him, because he’s safe with Mom and me.”

Mom comes over, too.  Jesus can’t let Jude go.  It’s like his hand is frozen in a claw around Jude’s wrist.  “Just try to relax, okay?  We’ve got you.  We’re keeping you safe.  And your brothers and sisters, okay?  You don’t need to worry.  You don’t need to do this.” Mom’s working her hand under Jesus’s.  It feels embarrassing, but he can’t do it alone, obviously.

When Jesus’s hand is finally off Jude’s wrist, Moms send him to the table, too, to sit down.  Jesus can hear Callie getting Frankie involved in a conversation about baby elephants, which she saw on Sesame Street like a million years ago, and still isn’t over how “amazing” they are.  In short, it’s always a guaranteed way to keep her attention.

“Breathe, Jesus.  You’re okay, love.  We’ve got you.  You’re with us,” Mom tells him softly, looking into his eyes.

Jesus’s heart’s pounding like crazy.  His adrenaline is seriously over the top.  “It doesn’t always stop there.  It doesn’t always…” he manages, his thoughts swerving and stuck all at once.

“Jesus, it  _does_  stop there.  In this house, it stops there,” Mama reassures, coming close and looking him in the eyes, too.

“But it doesn’t always stop there,” Jesus repeats, desperate.  He knows this for a fact.  It’s not true just because they say it is.

Mariana walks over slowly.  She makes sure Jesus can see her the whole time.  She doesn’t rush them.  She joins them, standing beside Jesus, both of them facing Moms together.

“No.  You’re right,” she says.  “It doesn’t always stop there.  A no violence expectation didn’t stop violence from hurting us when we were little, right?” she whispers.  “And it didn’t stop violence from hurting you or people around you later, either.”

Jesus nods.  Grasps her hand tight.

“But Moms are saying,” Mariana says, matter of factly, slowly, “that right here, right now, in this house?  We don’t have to worry about that.  We don’t have to protect each other from violence because we treat each other with respect in this house.”

“But not always,” Jesus whispers.  “It happened.  Then.”

“I know it did, love,” Mom says apologetically.  “We believe you.  Okay?  We believe you.  And we’re sorry.  And we understand that sometimes you hear a phrase or a sound and it reminds you of all those scary times.  When violence wasn’t a thing you were protected from.  We understand that.  We hear you.  And we’re not mad.”

Jesus breathes out, and nods.  

“Right now, we need you to walk to the table and sit down, so we can all eat together.  We’ll talk more once all of us have eaten,” Mama says and she and Mom stand on either side of him, walking with him to the table.

Jesus gets hung up at his chair.  Wants to stand behind it and white-knuckle it just because it feels too early and too scary to let his guard down.  To assume he can sit and eat after the stunt he pulled.  But Mom’s guiding him around the chair.

“Can you sit down?” she asks.

“Here,” Jude offers, handing Jesus a giant piece of the parmesan pull apart bread Callie baked.

With food in his hand (even if there isn’t food on  his plate yet) Jesus can sit down now.  He feels shaky.  Small.  Nothing happened to him or to Jude, but it still feels like it might.  Jesus watches Brandon out of the corner of his eye the whole meal.

Moms notice.

They ask if Jesus needs to ask Brandon anything in order to feel calm and safe in the house, and Jesus nods.  With his consent, Mom tells him they can talk to him together after he’s done helping Mari clean up dinner.

The two of them cleaning the kitchen Mondays and Wednesdays always reminds Jesus that he was gone when kitchen chores started being a thing for them.  It makes him feel sad.  Like there’s a lump in his throat.  And even though Moms said he and Frankie could get added to the cleanup schedule early on, it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen, with all Jesus’s safety issues in the kitchen, and not being able to be one on one with Frankie.  It bums Jesus out.  Makes him feel like less a part of the family.  He wants responsibility.  And chores.  But he can’t cope with them.

“B, will you come out here, please?” Mom asks.  Jesus and Moms are in the living room with Frankie, but Jude offers to take Frankie outside to play for a bit, so they can have the room to talk.

“Sure.  What?” he asks, drying his hands on a dish towel.

He takes one look at Jesus and Moms and instantly apologizes.  “Look.  I’m sorry I ran into you this morning. I know it freaks you out when people get in your space suddenly…or like… _ever_  when you don’t expect it…or consent, or whatever.  I respect you, and your space…and you know…” Brandon trails off.

Mom pats the couch next to her.  Jesus is on the arm of the big chair and Mama’s in the big chair.  It helps him to have to think about keeping his balance.  To feel the rocking.  And not to feel like he has to stay there.

“B, come sit,” Mom invites.  “Take a breath.”

Brandon looks at her like she made a joke he doesn’t think is funny until he realizes she’s serious.  When he realizes she is, he looks away and tries to breathe without any of them noticing.

“Scratch my back?  Please?” Jesus asks Mama softly.  He needs some other kind of input happening, and this is a better alternative to what Jesus feels like doing.  Even though he still feels like a tinyass tree, Jesus still wants the healthy part of him to keep dominating.  This has been a lot for one day, but he’s a little proud of himself for making it this far.  Wants to keep it up.

Mama agrees to, after reminding Jesus that he should call ‘Time’ when he wants her to stop.

“Jesus,” she says, when Brandon looks like he’s calmer.  “What did you need to ask Brandon?”

“I just wanna know if you’re still mad?  You know?  At Jude?”

“Honestly?  Yeah, I am.  But being mad at him doesn’t mean I’m gonna hurt him, Jesus,” Brandon says.  And it makes Jesus feel weirdly calmer how almost-offended Brandon sounds at the possibility of him beating Jude up.

“But what if, you know, you like…I don’t know…lose control?” Jesus asks, swallowing.  “I’ve been around that.  So I know it can happen.”

“Listen.  No matter how much Jude pisses me off?  I wouldn’t hit him.  When he and Callie first moved in, and he moved into our room?  We were getting ready for bed.  I went to the bathroom to change and came back in, in time to see Jude putting his pajama shirt on.  He had bruises everywhere.”

Jesus’s mouth falls open.

“He was a seven-year-old little kid.  And don’t think I don’t remember when you and Mariana got here.  You guys being my brothers and sisters taught me more about not being violent with a sibling than any expectation.”

“We literally just brawled last month,” Jesus points out.

“I was provoked,” Brandon claims, and quickly adds, “… _after_  I provoked you…” when he sees Jesus’s eyes flash in anger.  “Fine.  Point taken.   _My_  point is, I don’t wanna hurt Jude.  And I shouldn’t have hurt you.  You can be angry at someone and not wanna beat them up.”

“You  _don’t want to_  hurt Jude or you  _won’t_?” Jesus prompts.

“I won’t hurt Jude, Jesus.  And I’m sorry I ran into you.”

“What if I need to ask you again?  Like, if you’re mad?” Jesus wonders.

“You can ask as much as you want.  I’d rather you do that than get yourself all worked up because you’re afraid of me.  The answer’s always gonna be the same, Jesus.  Even if I am mad, it doesn’t mean I’ll hurt Jude.  I won’t,” Brandon says, looking him in the eye.  “So…are we okay?”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.  “But I really am serious about asking you.”

“And I really am serious about preferring that to you working yourself up into a frenzy.  You can always ask.  Or I’ll just like, casually mention it.  Maybe write a song about it.  Since Jude deleted my other one…” Brandon mutters.

“We will talk to Jude about that, Brandon,” Mom insists.  “Jesus, are you okay to hang out with Brandon or your sisters while Mama and I talk to Jude?”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Okay.  Well, you find who you wanna hang out with.  Send us a text if you need us in the meantime.  Otherwise we’ll see you in a bit.  We’re going to be out back talking to Jude.  We’ll send Frankie in, too.”

It takes Brandon approximately zero seconds to go over to the piano and start messing around on it.  “Hey, are you okay with my back turned like this?  Or should I get somebody else down here, too?  Hey, Frankie?  Ask Callie and Mariana if they wanna play something together?”

Frankie’s been lying dramatically on the floor because she’s “so tired from all that playing,” but the mention of music has her up and calling out to the girls to “come downstairs right now to have family music time!”

“What am I supposed to do?” Jesus asks.  “I’m, like, the only non-musical one out of all of you.”  

“You can pick the song,” Brandon urges.

Jesus knows that Brandon’s best on songs that feature a lot of piano, and not super strong vocals.  The last song he and Callie were messing around with at the cabin was a Great Big World one.  So Jesus starts there.

Instantly, the one titled Already Home catches his eye.  Jesus spots the year.  (As long as it’s after late 2011, he knows, he’s in the clear) and he sets the lyrics down in front of Brandon.  By now Mariana’s here, too.  Callie even has her guitar.  

“Will you hold me, Jesus?  So I can sing, too?” Frankie asks.

Jesus picks up Frankie and they all stand around Brandon, as he plays the opening of the song and Callie follows on guitar.  Jesus quickly is aware that he has a job after all.  Since Frankie can’t read the words, and clearly wants to be a part of this, Jesus cues her, whispering the lyrics in the moments before they’re sung, so she’ll know what’s coming.

Hands down, Jesus’s favorite part of the lyrics go:   _And when you’re scared and alone, just know that I’m already home._

So while he doesn’t feel like a tree, Jesus does feel like a part of this.  And that’s got to mean something.


	49. Chapter 49

Jesus wakes up to a sound in the house.  It’s so familiar, it makes his heart stop.  It makes his breath catch.  And even though he’s told himself a billion times all the things he would do differently if he heard those sounds again, he freezes.

A key in the lock of the Fosters’ front door.  The deadbolt turning.  

Boots on the stairs.

How the hell is He in this house?  Jesus tries to yell for Mom, but no sound comes.  Besides, he doesn’t want to be putting them in danger too.

The seconds drag by, but somehow, before Jesus even knows it, He’s found him.  The beads in his own doorway clink in a creepy way as He slides through them.  Once He’s inside, a door appears behind Him.  Locked tight.

Jesus tries to get up.  To move away.  For the first time, he notices he’s not on the floor in his blankets.  His blankets are on a bed and so is he.  Chained at the wrists and ankles so he can’t do anything but lie there.

Swallowing, Jesus tries to get his sluggish brain to work.  Hasn’t needed to think like this in years.  What should he say?  What should he do?

“You think you have it hard here, dumbass?” His voice teases.  Stale beer breath hits Jesus in the face.  His gun traces a path along Jesus’s jaw.

Jesus shakes his head.

“Don’t lie to me.  You know that I see everything you do.  I hear everything you say.  So I know that you’ve been telling the people over you what to do.  And that’s not right.  Is it?   _Is it!?_ ”

“No.  It’s not right,” Jesus manages, and his voice sounds weird.  Looks down.  And realizes he’s a kid again.  Nine.  Not strong.  Not powerful.  Not smart.

“You’re so dumb you’re forgetting everything I taught you.  So we’re going to review.”  He climbs on top of Jesus so He’s straddling him and puts the gun to Jesus’s head:  “What’s your name?”

“Joshua Christopher Mitchell,” he breathes, his voice going flat.

“When’s your birthday?”

“March 5th, 1998.”

“Who am I?”

“Dad.”

“Why am I your dad?”  

(Every question is a threat.  Jesus is sweating.  The gun’s ready to shoot if Jesus gets even one thing wrong.)

“Because you saved me from mean parents.  You adopted me.  They’re the ones that hurt me.  You’re really nice.”

By now, Something Else is happening and Jesus is numb.  This isn’t supposed to happen here.  Not in his ideal-situation room.  With stars on the ceiling.  And beads.  And food.  And positive stuff on the wall about himself.

He whispers in Jesus’s ear, still with the gun pointed at his head.  “If you don’t cooperate, your sisters are right across the hall.  There’s a new little one, right?  What’s her name?”

“Frankie,” Jesus says, even though he doesn’t want to.

“Right.  She’s the one who keeps saying she’d fight me.”  His eyes light up at the thought.  “You know I love the feisty ones.  It’s why I took you.”

Somewhere in his head, Jesus knows this doesn’t make sense. He can’t have known how Jesus would react, even if He saw Jesus and Mariana outside a couple times.  It’s a mind game.  But Jesus isn’t strong enough to resist it.  Can’t even move.  Can’t even stop Something Else or move his leg to distract himself.  

It hurts so bad it makes Jesus feel like throwing up.  But he can’t make any noise and wake his family up.  Otherwise He will probably kill them and take Frankie.

So Jesus lies there.  The gun’s against his head again.  It makes that noise like it’s coming alive and getting ready to kill.  It feels cold.  Jesus can hear the click.  And then a sound so loud it hurts Jesus’s brain.

Doesn’t even have time to think it, but he knows it’s true: he’s dying.

Knows he doesn’t exist anymore but somehow he can still hear His voice.  “That’ll teach you to get cocky.”

The next thing Jesus knows, it’s like somebody’s pressed rewind and it’s happening again.  He’s here.  In the house.  Coming through the door somehow with keys for these locks.  His heavy boots are on the stairs, looking for Jesus.  (For Frankie.)

Again, He comes into Jesus’s room, making the beads feel like a joke.  Those turn into a solid door behind Him.  

Jesus’s safe room, and nest of blankets is a bed and Jesus is chained to it.  There’s a gun.  And Something Else.  And His words in Jesus’s ear:

“Let’s review,” He says, in a scary teasing voice.  “And remember,” He says, jerking Jesus by the hair.  “Get one thing wrong?”  He cocks the gun right next to Jesus.  “What are you?”

“A warm body.”  (Jesus is little again.  God.)

“And?”

“I am nothing.”

“And?”

“I’m not smart.”  (Nine-year-old Jesus knows that saying words like dumbass would get him in serious trouble.)

“Does a warm body think?” He growls.

Jesus shakes his head.

“Does it get to tell me what to do?  Does it get to bitch and moan about not getting _protected_?”

“No.”

“Why?” He demands.

“Because it doesn’t need anything,” Jesus says in a dead voice.

“That’s right,” He says, still doing Something Else.  Jesus still can’t move his leg for a distraction.  (A warm body doesn’t need a distraction.)

His hands grab Jesus around the neck, tight.  Squeeze.  Jesus is blacking out.  Fighting to breathe but nothing is working.  Wrists and ankles still chained.  His Hand flexes.  Jesus knows, too late, that it’s the hand with the gun in it.

Jesus’s head explodes with the noise of the gunshot, but somehow, he’s still alive.  Can still hear more gunshots.  Screaming.  And Frankie crying as her voice gets farther and farther away.  Jesus can’t move.  Can’t breathe.  He’ll die here.

(Can nothing die?  Would it matter?)

Jesus can feel cold hands.  Shaking hands.  Tears on his wrists.  Panting.  

Pearl and Gracie.  Trying to unchain him.

Groaning, he tries to get them to leave.  To run away.  To get out of here.  But they don’t.  And Jesus is left knowing that He will come back.  That they’re gonna die, too.

–

It’s 4:05 AM when Jesus jerks awake, dragging in breath after breath.  Crouches in the corner of his room like he hasn’t done for years and calls Pearl, still not fully awake.

“Jesus?” she asks.  

Shit, he feels like passing out.  She’s okay.  “You’re okay,” he gasps.  “You are?  For real?”

“Yes, I’m okay.  For real.  What happened?  Bad dream?”

Jesus can’t talk about it.  “What about Gracie?  Is she okay?”

In the background, Jesus can hear Pearl prompting, “Gracie come,” and “Gracie speak,” until the dog woofs into the phone.

He swallows a massive sob.  “You guys…I thought you might…I don’t know…I can’t talk about it.”

“We’re okay.  Here.”

In seconds, a picture comes through, showing Pearl with a scarf on her hair and Gracie next to her.  Both have serious expressions, but both are obviously there.

“I could only feel you guys and hear you, but I knew it was you, and I knew you were in danger,” he manages, staring at the picture.  “Your hands felt cold and I could feel them shaking.  And I could feel your tears.  I was just a kid.  But you were your real age.”

“Some dreams can be hard to get rid of,” Pearl agrees softly.

“He was here.  In the house.  Hurting me.  Saying I shouldn’t have stood up for myself.”

Pearl just listens.  Jesus is glad he can hear her breathing.  It still doesn’t feel like he can breathe.

“He was telling me, like, I wasn’t a person.  And all the fake facts about me that he made me memorize.  I’m scared He really got in here…” Jesus whispers.  

“You locked the house with your mom last night, right?” Pearl asks.

“Yeah.  But He had a key.”

“In the dream, Jesus.  In the dream, He had a key, right?  He never had a key to your house in real life.  That wouldn’t make any sense, right?”

“I guess…” Jesus admits.  “I’m just used to hearing him unlock doors.  There.  And hearing him walking.  This time, He got Frankie.  He was gonna take her away with Him…”  Jesus’s voice breaks.

“That sounds terrifying,” Pearl sympathizes.  “And I know how much you love your sister.  But I need you to trust me that she’s okay.  That He’s not there.  Your house is still safe.  Did you talk to your parents yesterday?”

“In therapy, yeah.  I told them a lot.  About the airport security dude.”

“So, it could be that your brain is trying to sort out how you feel being that open?”

“I kinda insisted on things…” Jesus admits, shaking.  “Told them I needed things.”

“And that was difficult, I bet,” Pearl says knowingly.  “Listen, do you need me to call your Moms?  Tell them you need them?”

“I’m scared,” Jesus whispers.  “Because of what happened to them in the dream…”

“It might help you to see they’re okay.  I can stay on the phone with you, if you want to call them.  Or I can do it.  Whatever works for you.”

Jesus thinks back to The Things I Need.  How he’d promised to text them an emoji if he was feeling unprotected and they didn’t know it.  That barely made a noise.  And if they have their texts turned down it might be okay.

With shaking hands, he sends Mom the lock and key emoji, to tell her what he’s feeling unsafe about.  Hopefully, she’ll understand.  Hopefully, she’ll wake up.  Hopefully, the dream wasn’t as real as it felt and she’s still alive and can come and help him.

In sixty seconds, she’s outside his doorway.  The hall light’s on.  “Jesus?  I’m right here, love.  Can you come out and talk to me?”

“I gotta go,” he tells Pearl.  “Thank you for answering.  For always being here.  I know I’ve been needing you a lot lately…”

“We’re friends.  Friends need each other.  It makes sense.  I’m glad to be there for you.” Pearl says.  “Go talk to your mom.  Let her reassure you, okay?  Try not to shut her out.”

“I’ll try,” Jesus nods.

Walking to the doorway and squinting through the beads, he feels like his heart might explode right out of his chest.  All he can think about is how easily He walked in here.  How creepy the beads sounded clinking around Him.

Jesus takes a deep breath and walks through, shuddering at the noise.  Falls against her.  Still not even close to okay.

She holds onto him and they go downstairs together, Jesus holding on tight to her.  “I dreamed He broke in…” he whispers.  

“Okay,” she says, gathering a blanket.  A bottle of water.  A tiny box of Junior Mints from the side table drawer beside the big chair in the living room.  After they talk everything through and Jesus says he wants to sit with her and have the blanket around him, Mom wraps him up in it.  Takes him in her arms.  Holds him and gives him water.  And Junior Mints.  It works and he starts calming down.  Barely.

“He took Frankie…” Jesus manages between sips of water.

“That sounds like an awful dream, love.  I’m so sorry it scared you so much.  He did not break in here.  Do you know why?”

“He’s dead,” Jesus’s voice shakes.  In November, it was three years since He had killed Himself in prison.  No matter how much he knows that, though, He has a way of staying alive in Jesus’s mind, and subconscious.  It’s gross.

“That’s right, love.  So he cannot hurt you.  He can’t take Frankie with Him.  She’s safe.  We checked the front door again on the way by it, right?  It was locked.  No one came in.”

“He had a key…”

“I understand that’s your fear, love, and it makes a lot of sense, but He cannot have a key because He is not alive.”

“My room turned back into…” he stops.  Turns his face away from the water.  “Reverse-ideal-situation.  It had a door.  And a bed.  And I was chained.  And he was hurting me.  Making me say all the opposite stuff that I said in therapy yesterday.  He had a gun, so I had to say it.”

“Look at me.  I want you to have some water, okay?  Because it helps you to know you’re safe.”  Mom offers the bottle, in front of him, but doesn’t force him to have it.  She just waits.  Eventually, he can drink.  She follows it up with a Junior Mint.

“That’s the first thing I said to you, remember?” he asks, tasting the candy.  The sweetness and the mint are weirdly grounding.  He never gave Jesus candy.  “It was my safe word because it was my favorite thing.”

“I do remember.  It was very smart of you to tell me that.  It made me pay attention.  It made me know, in a second, that it was you.”

“Really?” Jesus asks, sipping more water.  Eating one more Junior Mint.

“Really.  I knew no one else knew that word.  No one else would use it in that moment.”

“It made you believe me and you came and got me.  And we got to go home,” Jesus remembers.  Pauses.  “I don’t like dreaming that He was here.  It makes me feel like I’m not safe anywhere.  I dreamed He got all of you guys with His gun.  And me. And was gonna even get Pearl and Gracie.  And took Frankie away.”

“I know you did some tough work yesterday in therapy, love,” Mom says, rocking with Jesus in the chair.  Offering more water.  More Junior Mints.  Jesus hopes the box doesn’t run out.  “I know it goes against everything you were told when you were gone.  Right?”

“Yeah,” he nods.  It helps to look in her eyes.

“But I promise you, Jesus, we are okay.  You’re here with me.  Frankie is safe in her room with Mariana and Callie.  Mama’s asleep upstairs and so are Jude and Brandon.  And it sounded like you were on the phone with Pearl just now. So you know she’s okay, too, yes?”

“It just feels like it really happened,” Jesus insists.

“Some dreams are like that,” Mom nods.

“Do you have them?”

“I do.”

“How do you work through it?” he asks.

“Well, I’m starting some counseling,” Mom admits.

“Really?” Jesus asks.

“Really,” Mom nods.  “My reaction to you at the cabin let me know that I needed something to be different.  It wasn’t about you.  It was about my feelings.  I was having a lot of those types of dreams, and keeping them to myself.  That’s why I’m so proud of you for talking to me.  For telling me what you need.”

“Does Mama help you?  So you don’t feel like the dreams are real?” Jesus asks seriously.

“She’s willing.  I just have to trust her.”

“Trust is hard,” he nods.  “Letting our guard down.  Right?  I think we’re really alike.”

“Do you?” Mom asks, a small smile on her lips.

“Yeah.  ‘Cause we think we need to be strong all the time.  And we don’t handle our feelings the best all the time.  But I’m proud of you, too.  Counseling or therapy or whatever…it’s scary when you start out.  But it can help.  If you get somebody like Dr. H.  And if your family has your back.  I have yours, you know, Mom?”

“I appreciate that, Jesus.  But it’s my job to take care of you.  Not vice versa.”

“I think it’s all of our jobs to take care of each other.  It’s what a family does,” he says, relaxing into Mom’s arms.  “Can I stay here with you?”

“Of course, my baby.  I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thanks, Mom. For helping me calm down.  Is it okay if I can’t sleep?”

“I think it’s understandable.  I heard there’s a new baking show we can check out on PBS.com.  What do you say?”

“Can we turn it off if it’s triggering?  Or fast forward through hard parts?  Can you, like, be my backup for it?  Screen it for me, kinda?” Jesus rambles, nervous.  New cooking or baking shows are great, but they’re also a gamble.

“Of course, love.  We don’t have to watch it at all if you don’t want to.  I just thought it might be a good distraction.”

They go to the kitchen and get Mom’s laptop.  Plug in her earbuds and share them, each using one, so they don’t wake up the house.  The show has two episodes up.  One from the end of December, and one from earlier this week, still in January.  

They watch together on stools at the kitchen counter.  

Jesus feels totally safe with Mom here, watching some British bakers make cakes.  This is a way Jesus can lose himself and stay healthy at the same time.

“I’m coping,” he confides to Mom.

“I see that.  You’re doing great,” she says, and when he offers her the crown of his head, she gives it a kiss.

 


	50. Chapter 50

Jesus is super tired from staying awake last night after his nightmare, so Mama sends him back to get more sleep after breakfast and making sure he’s safe.  She doesn’t need to worry.  Jesus pretty much falls asleep the minute he hits the blankets.  It’s like he blinks one long blink, and then he wakes up.  A really hard sleep is what he needed.

Going downstairs, he listens for Frankie before remembering that she’s at school.  Jesus doubles back upstairs for his laptop before looking around for Mama.  Anytime he has the stamina, Jesus tries to get some schoolwork in.  He’s still serious about being able to graduate with Mariana.  But if that’s gonna happen, he needs to stay on track with his education as much as possible.  Luckily, his homeschool mirrors everybody else’s with breaks so he hasn’t missed as much as he could have.

Jesus sits down at the table across from Mama.  Looks like she’s putting stuff on her calendar.  “Can we do some school?” he asks.

“How are you feeling?” she checks.

“I slept good.  And I feel like I can get some school done, as long as it’s just us.  And not too many distractions.”

“Right.  Well, that sounds like a good plan.  I’m going to start us out slowly today, because your stress level has been pretty high lately, and we need to respect your limits, right?”

“But I do wanna graduate.  On time.  With Mariana.”

“I hear you.  I understand.  But I want you to hear me, please.  I’m your teacher right now, and I’m also your mom.  That means I need to make sure you’re getting an education but I also need to look out for your mental health.  We’re taking it easy today.  So, let’s take it one thing at a time.”

“Okay,” Jesus takes a slow deep breath.  It helps some.

“Today, I want you to write a short essay for me.  Choose a topic, and I want to see an introduction, a body and a conclusion.”

“Is there a length-requirement?  How many pages?”

“Let’s say, three paragraphs.  At least three sentences per paragraph.  I’m going to email all of this to you so you can refer to the directions whenever you need to.  I want you to concentrate on whatever your topic is.  We’re working on building up your stamina in that regard, right?  And you’ve been doing some great work.”

“So, I’m writing nine sentences on anything I want?” Jesus asks.  “Sounds too easy.”

“Well, let’s take it one step at a time.  Let’s brainstorm some ideas together.  Can you think of something you’d feel comfortable writing nine sentences about?  We want safe topics.  Low stress.”

“Food?” Jesus offers.

“Good option,” Mama smiles, writing this down.  “What kind of food?”

“Cakes?”

“And what could you write about cakes?”

“I watched a new baking show with Mom.”

“Did they bake cakes?” Mama guesses.  

“Yeah.  But I don’t really know how to make them so maybe I wouldn’t have that much to say.”

“Okay.  Well, let’s try to come up with at least two more ideas.  What else do you feel safe writing about?”

“Gracie,” Jesus offers, confident.  “She talked to me on the phone this morning.  Early.”

“Did she?  And how’s Gracie today?”  

“Not sure,” Jesus admits with a smile.  “I don’t really understand her like Pearl does.”

“Okay, let’s try to come up with one more option.” Mama encourages.

“I think I’m done.  I wanna write about Gracie,” Jesus says.

“That’s great.  I’m going to be right in the kitchen with you, but I won’t read what you’re writing until you email it to me.”

Jesus nods and gets to work:

To: lenaadamsfoster75@gmail.com

From: ItsHeyZeus@gmail.com

Subject:  Gracie Essay

_In this essay, I’m going to write about Gracie.  Gracie is my friend, Pearl’s dog.  She is reddish brown and super soft._

_Gracie is a service dog that helps Pearl stay calm.  I think I need a service dog to help me stay calm, too.  I am not sure how to get a service dog, but I would like to try._

_I really want a service dog because they help people and I need help sometimes that’s easier to get from an animal than a person.  I think dogs are awesome.  If I got one, I would want it to be just like Gracie._

Jesus presses ‘send,’ satisfied with his essay.  He thinks about forwarding it to Pearl so she can read it to Gracie, but Jesus decides to wait and see what Mama says about it first.

The day is pretty low key.  He has lunch when Frankie gets back from school.  When she has a rest after lunch, he hangs out on the porch swing by himself.  Mama comes to check on him a lot, and Jesus is actually staying safe on his own.  He has his hoodie on with the sleeves rolled down and all his bandaids are still on from last night when Mom fixed them.

Even though it’s hard to resist the urge all the time, Jesus is getting better at it slowly.  At 3:30, he goes to therapy and talks to Dr. H. about his awful nightmare.  She has him think about what he would like to have happen instead.

“Use the gun on him before He could hurt us,” Jesus says quickly.

“I see.  And what would that accomplish that would make you feel safer?” Dr. H. asks.

“Stop Him,” Jesus says.  Notices the way Dr. H. is looking at him and clears his throat to keep going.  In the office, they try to speak in full sentences, for clarity and obviousness.  “Using the gun on Him would make me feel safer because it would stop Him from hurting us first.”

Dr. H. nods.  “Very clear.  I like knowing why you’d choose to stop Him in that manner.”

“Well, He wouldn’t stop any other way…” Jesus offers.  “Does that make me terrible?”

“No.  It makes you human.  Human beings have an instinct to protect their lives and the lives of those closest to them.”

“So it doesn’t mean I’m like Him?” Jesus checks.

“Was any of what He did to you, in the dream or otherwise, to protect you, Jesus?”

“No.  It was to dominate and control me.”

“Your instinct is not to dominate or control, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“So. would you say you’re like Him?”

“Not based on that…but I just thought…if I wanted to use a gun and He used a gun…that maybe…I don’t know…we’re alike.”

“It’s the reasoning that makes the difference.  Can you make that distinction?”

“I just basically said I’d wanna kill Him.  And He killed my friend.  So am I better than Him?  Or am I the same?  Dead is still dead.”

“Jesus.  I want to be sure you are as firmly in the present with me as you can be.  So, go over with me, slowly, what do you know for sure right now?  About what we’re discussing.  You told me you wanted to discuss something that happened last night.  What was that?”

“I wanted to discuss a dream that I had last night.  A nightmare,” Jesus starts.

“And I asked you a question after you told me about that dream.  Can you remember what the question was?”

“What would I like to have happen instead.”

“In the dream, right?” Dr. H. checks.

“Yeah.  In the dream.”

“So, you told me that in the dream, you would have liked to stop Him from hurting you and your family, by using the gun, because He would not stop by any other means.”

“Right.”

“What do we know for sure about Him right now?”

“He’s dead.”

“That’s right.  That’s reality.  You have never threatened injured or killed anyone with a gun.  That’s a fact.  He has.  You are not alike.”

“For sure?” Jesus checks again.

“For sure,” Dr. H. echoes.  “I understand that dreams can be vivid and powerful, and they can have a detrimental effect on how safe you feel.  Your mind does feel safe now, and it is trying to work through all your fears now that you’re safe.  It sounds like you reacted just right by reaching out to Pearl and your mom in the aftermath of your dream.”

“Okay,” Jesus nods.

“When you leave today, and until we see each other tomorrow, I would like you to notice what is really happening around you as much as you possibly can.  Knowing that any thoughts of Him or things He used to tell you are not currently happening.  Stay in the present.  Write or draw about what you notice in the present.  And be comforted that your present and your future are without Him.”

Jesus smiles a little.  “Thanks.  I’ll try.”

–

Callie’s there to pick Jesus up because Mama’s got errands this afternoon.  Things are okay between him and Callie but he doesn’t feel totally at ease with her like he did before the whole senior project debacle, where she decided it was totally okay for her to take pictures of him without asking and to do her whole project on him and his disappearance.  She’s still grounded from her phone, which helps Jesus feel safer around her.  But to be honest, the only time he’s totally okay with her is when she’s pretending to be Mrs. Longbottom.

She’s not Mrs. Longbottom today, though.  She’s quiet.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.  You?” she replies, keeping her eyes on the road.  “You know we’re just going home, right?  Nowhere else.”

“I know.  Thanks, though.”

So maybe she’s nervous about driving him after the epic panic attack he had the last time they were in a car together.  Maybe she’s wondering how she’d manage if he freaked out.  Wishes he could tell her that as long as there are no bags in the car, and no fast food, and none of the other million triggers, he would feel safe.

They get home and the house sounds seriously quiet.  Brandon’s out.  Mariana, Jude and Frankie are with Mama.  Mom’s still at work.  Jesus is still sort of expecting to find Him around a corner, or in Jesus’s room, but he doesn’t.  Tries to do what Dr. H. suggested and focus on what’s really going on.

He spots his laptop in the kitchen and remembers the essay (can he really call nine sentences an essay?  Jesus knows Mariana writes papers, like, seven pages long.  Those are essays.)  Jesus sits down at the table and powers up his laptop.

Callie’s out here, too, getting dinner ready.  Jesus wonders if she ever gets tired of it.  Knows it’s not the same as what he had to do as a kid - being in charge of supper every night for Him but almost never getting to eat it - still.  

“I can help if you want,” he offers, even though he knows it would be more help if he just sits there.

“I’m good.  Thanks,” Callie says.  She still seems distracted.  Or nervous.  Jesus gets the feeling that she’s supposed to watch him.  Like he’s a kid.  Jesus doesn’t need to be watched.  Has been taking care of himself and Mariana since they were babies.

He pulls up his email and sees one from Mama right away.  She must’ve gotten to go over it before she ran her errands.

Jesus clicks on it:

To: ItsHeyZeus@gmail.com

From lenaadamsfoster75@gmail.com

Re: Gracie Essay

_Nice job on this.  Solid introduction.  You lost focus toward the end, though.  Your introduction said you were writing about Gracie, but by the end you were writing about how you want your own service dog.  We’ll keep working on it._

Jesus stares at the screen.  The words  _you lost focus_  echoing in his head.  Can’t tear his eyes away from the evidence that he is actually dumb.  This time, Mama, who’s also his teacher, let him know.  Yeah, it was in a nicer way, but the truth is still in there.  

Who can’t write nine sentences and stay focused?

Mama wrote more than half of that just telling Jesus everything that was wrong with his.  All of Mama’s sentences are perfect.  One of his is a run-on, he can see the place she circled and wrote on the screen  _all one sentence?_

Absently, Jesus wraps the chain of the necklace he’s wearing around his hand.  Pulls it tight.  Keeps pulling.  Keeps staring at the words.  Hears Dr. H’s words in his head:  _Notice what’s happening around you._

Well, he’s noticing.  And it sucks.

–

Callie has been on high alert all day.  Knowing how much Jesus has been struggling, Callie’s not sure if she should be his safe person.  She’s not even sure if he’s comfortable around her.  He’s stopped okaying pictures of himself for her senior project, and she’s tried not to say anything about it.  Tries not to put anything on him that might feel like pressure.

But their whole sibling relationship has pretty much always felt like pressure.  First it was pressure on her end to measure up to how great the legend of Jesus was.  That was impossible.  And when he came back, it was like…all of them took a backseat to him.  It still kinda feels that way.

It’s not that she blames him.  She knows it’s not his fault at all.  But it never quite escapes her - knowing that if this had never happened to Jesus - she and Jude might have never ended up here.  They might have spent years in the system, getting bounced around forever.

The whole thing is complicated.

And having seen Jesus’s panic attack in the car?  Well, Callie’s had her own.  And they’re not fun.  And she had been totally useless during his.  She’s always wishing she could do more.  It’s just that right about now, juggling dinner, and making sure she checks in with Jesus, and thinking about her homework.  And Aaron, her high school boyfriend.  It all just feels like too much to balance.

“Jesus, you wanna try this?” she asks.  She knows he can’t help in the kitchen, but he’s always been a willing taste-tester (even though he’s not the most discerning, since he basically says he digs everything she makes.)

She turns away from the stove where she’s making breakfast for dinner.  Omelets.  Hashbrowns.  Biscuits and gravy.  Jesus is always up for trying her food, so what’s his deal?

Callie walks over to where he’s sitting.  “What’s up?” she asks.  She stops herself just short of poking him in the shoulder with her spatula.  Fine to do to the other sibs.  Not fine to do to Jesus.

No response.

It’s when she sits down beside him that she notices his necklace wound tightly around his hand.  The way he’s jerking it hard against his neck.  His face is strangely blank.  She’s seen this before, but always from a distance.  Always through a lens.  Now she has to look, with no filter.

Now, she has to act.

“Jesus.  Hey,” she says, getting his attention.

“What?” he asks, jumping in surprise, like she hasn’t been sitting by him for at least a minute now.  He’s still pulling on the necklace.  She can see a mark on his neck.

If this were Jude, she’d go behind him and take the necklace off.  She wouldn’t give him a choice about it.  But she can’t do that with Jesus.  As awful as it is, giving it up has to be his choice.  But that doesn’t mean Callie can’t help the process along.

“Hey, can I see your necklace for a sec?” she asks casually.

“Sure.  Why?” he asks, his eyes darkening as he unwinds it from around his hand and reaches up to take it off.

“Is it new?” She asks, desperate to make conversation.  Obviously it’s not new, Jesus has had it ever since he came home.  Moms got it for him.

Jesus gets up from the table and walks to the living room.  Stands still.

–

“Can you sit down in the chair and call Mama for me?” Callie asks.

Jesus clenches his jaw.  “You call her if you want.”

“Well…I don’t have a phone,” she says. Her voice sounds weird.

“We have a landline,” he offers, feeling a million miles away.  Where being a failure was always tied back to those dark months after losing Isaac.  That’s when everything started to slide.  When he really got heavy into hurting himself, and He got into hurting Jesus even more than usual.

“Will you sit, please?” she begs.  

“What’s your problem?  Seriously?”  Jesus is so over this.  Irritated.  Callie needs to just leave him alone and do her own thing and let him do his.  “I don’t need a damn babysitter!”

“You do, actually.  Right now, you do.”

Jesus is staying on his feet.  He’s not sitting in the damn chair.  He doesn’t need to be coddled like a child.

She has the landline in her hand, and pretty soon, it’s on speaker and Mama’s talking to Jesus.  He doesn’t even get what he’s done that’s so bad or why everybody’s so uptight.  But Mama’s serious about him sitting in that chair and waiting there til she can get home.

Jesus swallows.  Does it.

Remembers the stuff that happened Then when he came home with bad grades or if He had to go into school for a conference like all the time in seventh and eighth grade.

All this time, and what’s really changed?  Jesus is still just a dumbass, waiting at home to get his ass kicked for being stupid.

He’s noticing all right. Jesus is noticing all the ways his life here is exactly the same as it was There.


	51. Chapter 51

Mariana’s in the car with Mama, Frankie and Jude when Mama gets a call from home.  She can hear her talking to Jesus in a stern voice, telling him he needs to wait for her in the chair and concentrate on staying safe.

…That means he isn’t safe.

Mariana’s heartbeat speeds up.  She needs to get back to him.  Knowing he’s having a hard time when they’re apart is the worst.  Luckily, they’re on their way home now.  Having stopped at Target for new shoes for Frankie, and the eye clinic there, and the library because Jude needs actual books for something.  (Mariana offered to sit with Frankie in the car for that stop.  The library smells like dust and mold and Frankie’s can have a hard time breathing around that stuff.)

When they get in the door, Mariana is first in the living room, right behind Mama.

“What’s going on, Jesus?  I need you to talk to me,” she tries.  Mariana sends Jude upstairs with Frankie and steps into the living room with Mama and Jesus.  From where she’s standing, behind him, she can see a red mark on his neck, where his necklace used to be.

Jesus isn’t talking.  Isn’t rocking.  He’s just sitting.

“You can’t shut down on me, Jesus, okay?  This is important.”

Mariana steps around the chair so she can see his face.  His eyes.  This way, she can see the wariness buried deep under his blank stare.  It’s a look she totally recognizes.  A look Lena would too, if she could let herself think back to when they first got here, and knew to never, ever rely on adults to keep them safe.

“Jesus…  Do you wanna come with me instead?” Mariana asks.

“Mariana.  This is a Mom thing,” Lena reminds her in just the same way as she used to have to tell them when they were kids.  Because she and Jesus were always there for each other, even in the way parents should be.

“I need you to trust me, Mama,” Mariana says, in her most calm and in control voice.  “If we think we’re in trouble, Mom things don’t always land right.”

“Text me.” Lena insists.

“Okay.  Jesus, come on.  Let’s go to your room.”

Mariana’s relieved when he stands up.  She notices a similar red mark around his right hand.  Wonders where his necklace is, and then, just as quickly, figures that Callie has it.

She lets Jesus walk in first and hangs out outside.  “Can I come in?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he nods.  He still sounds a million miles away but at least he’s answering her.

Mariana takes one step in, just far enough so she clears the beads.  “What do you need?”

“Not a babysitter!  I already told Callie!  I’m fine!” Jesus says, too loud.  She can see the fear in his eyes.

“You’re not in trouble.  Nothing’s gonna happen right now, or later, okay?” Mariana tries.

“Just leave me alone…” he begs, pacing back and forth.

“I have an idea,” she offers.  “Let’s call Pearl.”

“No,” Jesus growls,  turning hostile eyes on her.  It takes everything in Mariana to stand her ground.  To know that with her brother, intensity and fear sometimes meld together and make him seems scary, when he’s really terrified.  

“Okay…” Mariana says, like she’s bored and maybe a little sarcastic.  “Well…can  _I_  call Pearl?”

“Like I have any freaking power at all here, Mariana!  You know you can do whatever you want!” he yells.

The more Jesus talks, the more Mariana’s able to figure out what the next thing is she should do.  If Jesus is feeling powerless, she should sit.  Obviously.  So, she does, but to one side of the doorway, so she’s not blocking his exit, in case he wants to leave.

Wordlessly, Mariana tries video chatting with Pearl.  She doesn’t pick up.  Mariana hopes she’ll call back soon.  Doesn’t remember what the heck Pearl does at 7 PM, but maybe she’s out walking her dog.

Her phone chimes with a text.  Mariana glances at Jesus.  Still pacing.

_**Mama:** _

_Update.  Also, dinner time.  Come out._

“Mama wants us to go down for dinner,” Mariana tries.

“Go then,” he tells her.  His voice soft.  Sad.

Mariana texts back:  

_We’re okay.  Can we have dinner here?  We’re still talking and Jesus needs to eat._

In a few minutes, Mom and Jude drop dinner off, with trays like you’d eat TV dinners off of.  It takes a while for Jesus to settle enough to eat.  When he does, it’s at record speed, and Mariana hopes he doesn’t have to get sick.

Just about then, Mariana’s Skype rings.

She scoots around so she’s sitting beside Jesus, and answers.  “Hey.  It’s Mariana and Jesus,” Mari offers.

“I see that,” Pearl nods, half amused, half concerned.  “What’s going on, guys?”

At her side, Jesus stays quiet.  Mariana doesn’t fill the silence.  Or fill Pearl in.  Even though Jesus and Pearl are like, really close and get each other, Jesus has been clear about wanting to share his own stuff in his own time, with who he wants.

Eventually, he says, “Nothing.  Everybody’s just making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Huh.  That sounds aggravating.”

“It is,” he nods.

“Any way I can help?  Do you need me to tell your moms to cool it?” Pearl jokes lightly.

“You could tell them to just get it the hell over with.  That’d be awesome,” Jesus mutters darkly.

Mariana’s heart sinks.  It’s exactly how they used to think all the time,  If they did one thing wrong.  The difference now is that Jesus has years more experience being treated horrible than Mariana does.  So the lines blur easier for him between what happens in a family and what doesn’t.

Pearl’s just listening and waiting.  Finally, she asks, “You don’t feel safe, do you?”  But it’s not an accusation.  There’s sadness in her voice.  Like she understands.  Mariana doesn’t get how Pearl could understand, but it’s not her place to ask either.

“No…  ‘Cause I messed everything up.  ‘Cause I’m an epic dumbass.”

“What do you think you did?” Pearl asks, tone measured.

“It’s not what I think I did, Pearl.  It’s true.  It’s reality.  I wrote this thing today for school and I sent it to Mama.  She homeschools me,” he adds.  “And then I got home from therapy and checked my email and she wrote me back about it…”

“I’m guessing it’s difficult for you to get feedback.” Pearl ventures.

“From adults, yeah.”

“What did the email say?” Mariana wonders.

“It said basically, ‘ _Dear Jesus, You’re a dumbass_.’”  He swallows.  His eyes are bright.

“Jesus, Mama’s never used that word one time since I’ve been here,” Mariana points out gently.

“She said I lost focus!  It means the same thing!  I only had to write nine sentences, and one of them was too long and most of it was off-topic.  So what does that equal?!” he challenges.

“So you think you’re gonna get punished for getting a bad grade?” Mariana guesses, sympathetic.

“It’s happened before,” Jesus shrugs.

“But not  _here_ ,” Mariana challenges, her own voice quiet.  “Moms don’t hurt us, Jesus.  They don’t leave us.  Even when we mess up.”

“Well, they never called me dumb before either, but that just happened…” Jesus insists.  

Mariana knows it’s not gonna do any good to try and tell Jesus that’s not what Mama meant.  All that matters is that that’s how it feels to him.  No wonder he thinks he’s going to be in trouble.  No wonder he was hurting himself.

“That must feel like the biggest betrayal,” she says, feeling shocked and sad.  “She shouldn’t have said that to you, and I’m sorry she did.” Mariana says.  She catches Jesus wiping his eyes roughly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Gracie wants to know what your essay was about?” Pearl interjects gently, aiming her phone so that her dog’s happy face fills the screen.

“You,” Jesus says softly to the dog.

“It was about Gracie?  Seriously?” Pearl says, sounding genuinely excited, peeking into the frame with one eye.

“Yeah.  Seriously.  I thought about sending it to you guys but I wanted to see what Mama said first.  I guess it’s a good thing I waited.  ‘Cause it sucked,” Jesus sighs.  “I write like a ten-year-old.  I’m never gonna graduate.”

“Jesus.  Listen.  Your feelings are totally valid.  And we can take our time.  And breathe.  And think about whatever the next step is.  Whatever’s next that you need.”

“I shouldn’t,” he shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t…” Pearl echoes.

“Think.  I’ll probably just mess everything up more…”

Mariana’s own brain is working overtime, searching for a way to get through to her brother.  Finally, it’s there:

“You are smart.  You outsmarted  _Him_ ,” Mariana says, eyes fierce and locked on Jesus’s.  “You saved yourself.  In the worst situation, you outsmarted a full grown, totally gross, awful guy at thirteen.  You got away from Him and you got yourself home to us.  No one else gets the credit for that, Jesus.  So what if you’re not book-smart?  That’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.  I may have gotten all the book smarts in the womb, but you got all the common sense.”

“I can’t write a paper.”

“So?” Mariana challenges.  “Ask Pearl how many essays she has to write on a regular basis as an adult.  How often?”

Jesus raises his eyebrows.  “Like, all the time?” he guesses.

“Like never,” Pearl insists.  “Also, something you literally never need to know anything about?  Parallelograms.  Or basically any math.  You know when teachers say you can’t use your calculator?  Or what if you didn’t have a calculator in this situation?  Lies.  You literally always have a calculator!  And if you don’t you can borrow one from someone.”

“You must’ve gone to school in the 90s or something because who doesn’t have a calculator on their phone?” Mariana asks, skeptical.

“We didn’t have cell phones.  Almost none of us.  And those who did?  Didn’t have calculators,” Pearl says seriously.  

Mariana’s mouth drops open.  So does Jesus’s.  They stare at each other and then at her.

“Listen,” Pearl says after laughing gently at their twin expressions.  “I’m not saying school isn’t important.  Obviously, it is.  But it’s not everything, Jesus.  Common sense will get you so much farther than writing the perfect essay.  And your focus might get better over time as you heal.  Concentration takes a while to come back.  It’s a symptom.  Don’t blame yourself for that.  And Mariana, don’t let him be blamed, okay?”

“I won’t.  I promise,” Mariana vows.

“Now.  Can I help you both in any way?  To figure out what needs to happen next for you to feel safe, Jesus.”

“I need Lena not to tell me I’m dumb.  I wrote it on the thing in therapy literally yesterday, if something seems to go against my boundaries I need to know really specifically why it’s happening and how it’s different.  I didn’t get a why or a how.  Just a ‘ _you’re stupid_.’

“Jesus, I’m serious.  You need to stop talking about my brother that way,” Mariana says.  “We’ll get you a why and a how.  What about Porch Time tonight?  I can be there.  For, like, emotional support, or to help clarify.  Whatever.”

“To make sure they’re not mad?” he asks, sounding nervous again.

“Of course.  I’m always your backup, remember?”

“Can I talk to Pearl alone for a sec?” he asks, and Mariana takes the hint but stays close by, because she doesn’t want him feeling left behind when Pearl hangs up.

–

When Jesus is alone with Pearl, he inclines his head to the side, showing the mark on his neck.  Shows her his hand, too.  “I screwed up.”

Pearl’s eyes get concerned, but she doesn’t hang up.  “I’m still here.  I’m not going anywhere.  You’re going to need someone to fix those for you.”

“They’re fine.”

“Jesus.”

“When you measure everything against super hell, a little indent from a necklace is nothing.”

“We’re not in hell anymore.  Not super hell either.  So the measurement system has to be different, right?  At your house right now, you’re kept safe from being hurt.  And if something slips by your parents, they help you as soon as they know.  If you get hurt at all here, it’s a big deal. Jesus.”

“I feel like I just keep failing at everything…” he confesses.  “Like right after Isaac…”

“You’re not failing.  You’re doing your best.  Soon, I hope, the impulse to talk about what’s hurting you will come before the one to hurt yourself.  Just be patient.  It will click for you, it just may take some time.  You’ve had a lot of practice being hurt and almost no opportunities to talk about it, comparatively.  You’ve still spent less time out here than you have There.  So forgive yourself.  The road forward is never a straight one.  You found yourself on a turn today, but you’re still going forward.  Believe that.”

“Do you?” Jesus asks.

“I do.”

“Okay.  Then maybe I can, too,”  Jesus says.  

They hang up soon after, and Jesus thinks about what Pearl said about having someone fix his most recent damage.

He glances in the corner of his room where he sees the scarf from Pearl tied to one of the straps of his new backpack.

Jesus goes and gets it.  Puts it on.  Wraps it around his neck and hand.


	52. Chapter 52

Jesus sticks his head through the beads and around the corner, checking for Mariana.  Realizes belatedly that while he was busy, she took their dishes downstairs, because they’re gone.  But Mariana’s back now.

“Come back?” he asks.

She does.

“Did you mean what you said about being there for Porch Time?” he checks

“Of course.  If you want me there, I’m there,” she says like there’s no question in her mind.

“I’m not sure how, or if I can even talk to Mama…” Jesus admits.  “It’s so hard to even be around them when something’s not clear for me.  I need her to know things but I can’t even talk to her.  Because everything’s mixing.”

“You could text her…or email.  They’re still putting Frankie to bed.  We have a few minutes.”

“Maybe,” Jesus concedes.  He lowers his voice.  “I’m still like so self-conscious about writing anything to her, though.  That she’ll see it and be noticing all the stuff that’s wrong with it.”

“What if I typed it for you?  You tell me what to say.  And we can read through it before it’s sent.  That way, if she writes back, it’ll be in my inbox.  Not a trigger for you.”

Jesus breathes.  “I did what you’re doing once.  I helped somebody write something.”  (He’s thinking of Isaac and the letter.) “He helped me spell everything right.  Will you?”

“Yeah.  I will,” Mariana nods.  “What do you want it to say?”

Jesus pauses, while sits beside Mariana, so he can see the screen on her phone.  He thinks about how he is with Pearl.  And her questions about how clear he can be.  How clear can he be with Mama?

When he’s ready, he starts saying what he wants Mariana to write:

To: lenaadamsfoster75@gmail.com

From:  ItsMissThangAF@gmail.com

_Mama,_

_The email you sent about my essay feels like it violates my boundaries.  (The part about language.)  When I read your comments that I lost focus, it made me feel like I did whenever He said I was a dumbass.  I need to know why you said that and how it’s different._

Mariana’s about to sign Jesus’s name, when he stops her.  Sometimes, that’s still hard.  If he puts his name on this and she doesn’t like it?  There will be proof that it came from him even though Mariana will have sent it.

“I don’t know if I want my name on it…” he hedges.

“Well, what about this?” Mariana asks, and quickly rewrites the email so it reads:

_Mama,_

_The email you sent about Jesus’s essay feels like it violates his boundaries.  (The part about language.)  When he read your comments that he lost focus it made him feel like he did whenever He said he was a dumbass.  Jesus needs to know why you said that and how it’s different._

_Mariana_

“How is it now?” Mariana asks, showing him.

“Better,” he nods.

“Send?”

“Yeah.  Send.”

–

When Lena’s phone chimes partway through  _Pinkalicious_  (Mariana’s favorite book at about age eight and Frankie’s favorite now) Lena pauses to check her phone.

“Just…one…more…pink…cupcake…” Frankie says and Lena could swear she’s reading.  

“Very good, honey,” she praises and nods at Stef to keep going.  Stepping out into the hall, Lena reads the email from Mariana.  She feels herself deflating.

Things have been so hard on Jesus lately, and the last thing Lena ever wants to do is intentionally make them more difficult, but honestly, emailing him feedback was not even on her radar as far as a possible trigger.  She thought she’d kept it gentle.  She made sure to start positive.  She made sure she was specific and that she was clear that it was something they could keep working on together.  She understood that his concentration was something that he struggled with, even before his disappearance.

Lena goes back to Frankie and Stef, in time to hear Frankie haltingly read another page, before asking Lena to finish.

Stef and Lena tuck her in and cover her face with kisses.  Frankie beams.  “Are you so proud of me?”

“We are.  So proud.”

“That I can read?” Frankie checks.

“Yes, we are, love.  Very proud,” Stef confirms.  “Where did you learn that?  They’re not teaching you in preschool, are they?”

Frankie shakes her head and tells them seriously:  “I just know how.”

Lena raises her eyebrows at Stef.

“Well…  That’s pretty great, my baby.”

“You call everyone your baby, but I’m your real baby, right?” Frankie asks.

“Right you are.  You’re our last little baby.  We love you very much.”

They leave the girls’ bedroom door open a crack, the way Frankie prefers, and check Jesus’s room on the way by.  It’s dark.

“What was the text?” Stef asks.  “You look concerned.”

“I am.  It’s an email.  From Mariana.  On Jesus’s behalf.  Looks like something I did may have triggered him this afternoon…”

“Love, you didn’t do it on purpose,” Stef reassures, putting an arm around Lena, and making a stop in their bedroom, in case Lena needs to say more.

“The damage is done, Stef.  He’s so fragile right now.  Zero self esteem.  And that plummets into the negative numbers at the slightest correction.”

“So, we build him up then.  Constantly.  He told us himself, there’s no limit on how much he needs to be told positive things.  Jesus has had a hard time lately, Lena.  We didn’t exactly think this trip through with his needs in mind, or Frankie’s for that matter.  But we can only move forward.  The fact that you got an email from Mariana that’s obviously via Jesus seems like a positive sign.  So we listen.  We tell him whatever information he needs to hear, and we take this on the chin.  Yes?  Holly said relapse is a part of Jesus’s recovery, and he has been dealing with a lot lately.  If lowering his stress for the foreseeable future until he can get his head above water is what we have to do, then it’s what we’re going to do.”

“I agree,” Lena sighs and gives Stef a kiss.  “Let’s go talk to him.”

Lena and Stef find both Jesus and Mariana out on the porch swing.  “Hey guys,” she greets softly.  “Jesus, I’m proud you’ve got Mariana with you right now.  Good job, bud.”

She watches as he ducks his head.  As his ears turn red with embarrassment.

Lena can’t let that deter her.

“First, my baby, I’d like to look at your neck, and your hand, please,” Stef says.  “When you’re ready, unwrap your scarf for me.  I’m not going to touch you right now, I just want to look.”

Lena watches as Jesus swallows and slowly removes the scarf.  Holds it in his hands.  Stef examines his neck, and then his hand.

“Okay.  You can cover it back up.  Are you safe right now?”

Jesus casts her a dark look.  

“Love, we can’t read your mind,” Stef urges.

“I can,” Mariana interjects.  “Jesus, what?” she says, and then they just look at each other.  “Do you feel safe?”

“From myself…for now… but…”

“But what?” Mariana asks, patient.

“But not…” he nods in Lena’s direction.  

It hits like a blow, but she remembers Stef’s words.  Takes it on the chin.

“You feel safe from yourself but maybe not around Mama?” Mariana tries.

He nods.

Lena clears her throat.  Looks Jesus in the eyes.  “I got Mariana’s email.  I’m sorry that my feedback wasn’t clear, honey.  The words I said?  I never intended to make you feel like I thought you weren’t smart.  I know that’s a tender area for you and I would never say anything that made you feel badly on purpose.”

Jesus can’t quite look her in the eye, but Lena keeps looking back, remembering his list from Holly’s office.

“Is any of this getting in?” she checks.

“Kinda…” he admits.

“Do you need anything to be more clear?” Lena asks.

“Why did you say I lost focus…and how is that different from Him saying I’m a dumbass?” Jesus asks quietly.

Lena winces.  But her voice is calm and steady.  “This is different because I love you and I respect you as a person, Jesus.  My goal is always to build you up, while His was to make you feel inferior.  Does that make sense?  The difference?”

“So, what does it mean that I didn’t feel built up?  Did I read it wrong?” he asks.

“No.  You read it absolutely right.  Your past experience makes you sensitive to correction.  And recently you’ve been under a lot of stress.  So it makes sense that you didn’t feel built up by my words.  If you’d like, you and I can discuss how I can give you feedback in an ideal way.  In a way that works for you.”

“So, if you didn’t say I lost focus so I’d feel bad about myself, why did you say it?” Jesus asks, finally able to look Lena in the eyes.

“I said that because it was something you and I have been working on together.  Right?  Your concentration.  I wanted you to know that I noticed you started out telling me you were writing about one specific thing.  But by the end, your paper became less specific and more general.  It’s okay to write a paper on something general, but if I start out saying I’m going to write about you and Mariana, you’re going to expect to read something about you and your sister, right?”

“Right,” Jesus nods.

“You wouldn’t be expecting it if that paper ended up being about twins, in general.  You’re not just any twins, right?  You’re special.  You’re our family.”

“Ohhh,” Jesus realizes, and Lena can see the light of realization in his eyes.  She craves those moments as an educator.  She loves seeing her students - especially her son - get something for the first time.  “Why couldn’t you just tell me  _that_?”

They wrap up Porch Time.  Lena heads back indoors and doesn’t miss how Jesus stays two steps behind her.  She recalls this, particularly, from when he’s nervous about a meal.  How he has a habit of trailing her from the stove to the table and back.

“Did you need something, Jesus?” she asks, as soon as Stef and Mariana have gone upstairs and they’re alone.

When he nods to the recliner in the living room, with his eyebrows raised, it’s subtle.  But being fresh from Porch Time means that Lena is dialed in.  

“Would you like to sit with me?” she asks.

He nods.  Hesitates some after she sits down.  Lena’s fully expecting him to perch on the armrest of the chair like he’s done lately, but he speaks up, surprising her.

“I wanna sit…but I don’t wanna crush you…  Can I?” he asks.

“Yes.  You absolutely can.  I’m strong, bud.  You won’t crush me.”

Tentatively, he sprawls sideways in the chair.  Blanket wrapped around him.

They just sit for a while, and Lena rocks a little.  “So, do you think talking about your schoolwork would work better for you than me emailing you feedback?” she asks, her mind still on the essay.

“Can you just be Mama right now?  Not my teacher?” he asks quietly.

“Sure,” Lena agrees, surprised.

They don’t talk, but Jesus is definitely present.  Looking her right in the eyes.  “You really don’t think I’m dumb?” he asks.

“I really don’t think you’re dumb,” Lena confirms.

“He used to hate it when I did bad in school.  Used to hurt me for it.  Worse than usual.”  Jesus pauses looking away.  “I sorta thought you might do that, too.  Sometimes I do it to myself to like get myself ready in case.”

“In case?” she asks.

“In case it happens again.  So I’m ready and it won’t hurt so bad.  Or so I’m far away when it does happen so I don’t care.”

“You’re protecting yourself.  And trying to cope,” Lena clarifies.  “Right?”

Jesus sighs.  Nods.

“Honey, can I ask you a question?  It’s personal.  So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Yes,” he says, surprising her.

“When you feel yourself starting to…disappear, I think you called it?  Do you have any control over that?” Lena wonders.

“What do you mean?” Jesus asks, confused.

“I mean, is it something that you notice?  Something that happens gradually?  Or does it happen all at once?”

“Usually, all at once.  But there are like…levels?”

“Really?” Lena’s intrigued.  “Do you want to tell me about them?  Do you feel safe doing that?”

“Yes.”

“We can talk about a different topic if it doesn’t.  And if sitting here with me doesn’t feel safe you can always get up,” Lena adds.

“I know.  I wanna stay, if you want me.  And I wanna talk about it.  I didn’t think anybody cared about the levels.”

“I do want you.  Always.  And I care about whatever impacts you, Jesus.  Whatever’s important to you.  And I care about you, as a person.  As my son who I love and respect.”

“Oh,” he says, a little surprised.  “So there are three levels.  Level 1 is the lowest. That’s like…just a little checked out.  Like if I stand behind the chair at meals.”

Lena raises her eyebrows.

“But it can be for other stuff, too.  If I’m just feeling a little out of it.  If I’m hurt like a little bit emotionally or physically or any way.  Level 2 is…”

“Jesus?  I’m not cutting you off. But do you want to pause for a minute?  Slow down?  I know rushing is hard for you…and it’s also hard for you to control.”

“Right,” he nods.

So, Lena recites a bit of  _Where the Wild Things Are_  from memory.  She has the entire book down, as Brandon loved it first and near a decade later when Jesus came home, he latched onto the story, as something he could relate to.

Jesus just listens, even reciting with her parts that he knows by heart.

When Lena judges he’s calm and clear, and not feeling rushed. She asks if he still wants to discuss levels with her.

“Level 2 is Cookie Land,” he says, without preamble.  

“The video game?” she asks.

“Facebook.  It’s an app.”

“Right,” Lena nods.

“I just imagine playing the game a lot.  It helps because it’s bright and there’s food and the French guy that talks in it just gives positive feedback.  He doesn’t ever say you did a bad job.  Level 2 is for if stuff is too hard to stay at Level 1.  And especially if I’m hungry.”

Lena’s doing her best to keep mental notes.  Needs to remember this for future interactions with Jesus.  She wonders how many times she’s seen him at either of these levels and had not been aware that anything was amiss?

They take another book break, where Lena finishes reciting  _Where The Wild Things Are_ , and then, Jesus asks if he can tell her about Level 3.  She agrees.

“It’s the highest level.  The level like a panic attack. Like a long time ago on the patio when I broke that plate.  At the airport after security.  In the car freaking out with the bags.  And if I hurt myself, I’m usually there.”

Lena blinks back tears.  “I feel so sorry you ever needed those levels, honey.  It sounds so lonely.”

“It’s  _from_  being alone, Mama.  Mostly.  And from being hurt all the time,” Jesus confides.

“If I notice you at any of these levels…what could I do?  Is there a way I could help you?”

“Be in front of me but don’t touch me.  Food.  Water.  Tell me the human stuff.  And don’t leave me alone.  If you see me hurting myself, you can help me stop.”

“How?” Lena asks gently.

“Callie does it the best actually.  She just asks to see whatever I have, really casually.  Then I can give it up.  But if you’re intense or scared, it’ll make me feel like I might still need whatever it is.”

“Do you have anything unsafe with you right now?” Lena asks, because they’re on the subject.

“No.  Callie took the last unsafe thing.  Can I get another bracelet, Mama?  I know I need a lot of stuff right now but it’s really important and Mom said we could get one a bit ago and we still haven’t.”

“That reminds me…” Lena says.  “I need to get my purse.”

“I can get it,” Jesus offers.  

“You’re welcome to, sure,” Lena encourages, but she gets up from the chair, too, keeping an eye on him.  Her purse is on the kitchen counter.  The kitchen’s a stressful place on Jesus’s best day.  But he walks in, gets her purse, and comes right back.  “Thanks so much, honey, that was thoughtful,” Lena tells him, and means it.

Jesus shrugs off the praise and asks.  “Can I sit?  Or was that your way of being done?”

“This is about what feels safe for you, bud.  What you said made me remember I have something in my purse for you.  That’s all this was.  It wasn’t me rejecting you.  I’d love to have you back, if you feel like you want to sit with me again.”

Jesus bites his lip, but comes back.  Waits for Lena to search her purse for the small Target bag inside and then set the purse aside before he sits down with her.

Lena takes out the bracelet and hands it to Jesus.  It black and woven with a silver plate that reads  _ **i love you to the moon & back**_.

“This is for me?” he asks.

“Because Mom and I know how important your bracelets are, and I know Mom said you could choose for yourself.  If you’d still rather do that, you’re welcome to.  I won’t be offended.  I just saw this, and I thought of you and how much Mom and I love you.”

“This is just because?” Jesus wonders, still trying to process the idea of a gift with no provocation.  With no expectation on him to somehow pay back a debt.  “Pearl gave me that package and said it’s because friends do that sometimes.  Is it like that with family, too?”

“It is,” Lena confirms.  “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it,” she insists.  It isn’t lost on her that her son isn’t nine years old anymore.  He’s a teenager, and most teenage boys would not wear something this juvenile.

But Jesus is already putting it on his wrist.  “No, I do like it.  For real.  Because it’s like proof over what He did to me.”

“Proof?” Lena asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

“That you and Mom really did love me.  He was wrong.”

“We really do love you, Jesus.  Then and now,” Lena reassures.  “You’re pretty amazing.  Not many people would think to cope with a scarf.  That’s self care, and it’s such a smart idea.  To cover your injuries with something soft, from someone who cares about you.  I love that you thought about that.”

“You do?” Jesus checks.  “I didn’t think it was a big deal.  It just kinda made sense to me.”

“I do.  I want you to know I see how hard you’re trying.  I notice.”

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“I really needed this,” Jesus confesses.  

“You know?” Lena asks, looking him in the eye.  “I really did, too.”


	53. Chapter 53

Jesus sleeps hard and doesn’t dream, but he’s still up early.  It’s after 6:00, though, so that’s a good sign that he’s not feeling as wound up.  The first thing he does is check out his wrist.  For once, it’s not to obsess about the fresh bandaids Mom put on last night coming loose.  Even though his skin is still kind of crawling because it always is now, Jesus is focused on the bracelet from Mama.

He snaps a picture of it.  Sends it to Pearl with the message:

_Morning. Mama got this for me.  Isn’t it cool?_

His phone chimes back with a text right away:

**Pearl:**

_I love that!  And I love that you love it.  How’s the coping?_

Jesus calls her, because it’s quicker than texting.  He likes being able to see her face.  “It’s going okay,” he admits, once he can see her.  “My skin’s still, like, doing the thing.  It kinda crawls all the time and makes me feel like…you know?  But I’m not.  I have your scarf on.  And the bracelet.  And you.”

“I think you’re doing amazing.  I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Jesus says, ducking his head.  “How are you?”

“Just fine.  Nothing new.  Just hanging out with Gracie.  She’s trying to convince me to go to the post office today because I have some stuff to drop off for work, but I don’t want to.”

“Not as exciting as cupcakes?” Jesus guesses.

“Well, let’s be honest…I mean, a dog sweater just doesn’t compare…”  There’s a pause and then:  “So, did your Porch Time go okay?  With Mariana and your moms?”

“Yeah.  Mama explained that I just got too general when I said I was gonna be specific.  That’s easy to fix, right?  And she said it doesn’t mean I’m dumb.  So that’s good, I guess.”

“Do you believe her?” Pearl asks quietly.

“Yeah, mostly, I think.  You know how I don’t have a swing or anything like that?  Well, we do have this huge chair.  Like, it could fit sixteen Frankies in it.  So last night - don’t laugh - but Mama and I hung out there.  Talked.”

“Jesus, I think that’s great.  I would never laugh at you.  Did it help?”

“Yeah.  It did.  But I always get kinda nervous ‘cause that happens at night and then it’s a new day, and it always feels like everything from before gets erased.  Like, I feel shaky again on whether Mama wants me around.  Maybe she thinks I am dumb a little?  I don’t know.  Like what if everything’s different now?”

“In super hell…” Pearl starts.  “Was He very moody?”

“Yeah, like all the time.  I never knew what He was gonna be like…  Mad or really mad.  But it was the scariest when he was nice, actually.”

“So, it makes sense that you’d feel somewhat off balance after feeling so safe.  Because you’re not used to being able to maintain the feeling.”

“That’s so accurate,” Jesus breathes, impressed.  

Down the hall, Callie’s alarm starts singing the most irritating song about how it’s a beautiful day.  And Jesus decides to hang up with Pearl for now.  “But keep me updated.”

“Same,” Pearl says.

Jesus walks out of his room and down the hall to Moms’ bedroom door where he just kinda hangs out in the hall.  He wants to talk to Mama, but he isn’t sure if she’s up yet, and the idea of knocking on their bedroom door makes his heart rate speed way up.

“Hey.  Need something?” Brandon asks.  “I’m less mad at Jude, by the way.”  He’s in a tee shirt and flannel pants.  His hair’s messy.

“I just wanted to talk to Mama, but I wasn’t sure if she’s up…” he hedges.

“Oh.  Here,” Brandon steps up and knocks on their door.  “Jesus is out here.  He wants to know if Mama’s awake.”

“She is now…” Mom says.  “Thank you, B.”

“No problem.”

“Dude.  Now is  _she_  mad I woke her up?” Jesus asks, worried.

“I doubt it.  But I can hang out here.  ‘Til you know for sure.  I’m just waiting for Callie to get out of the bathroom.”

Jesus usually wouldn’t take Brandon up on anything resembling backup, but he’s nervous.  It’s early morning and he still feels kinda unsure about how Mama will even feel about him now.  He nods.  In a minute or so, Mama opens the door.  She’s in a robe.

“Morning, guys.  What’s up, Jesus?”

He swallows.  Tries to talk, but all his words are gone.  Can’t even look up from the floor.

Jesus imagines Mama and Brandon making eye contact.  Lots of raised eyebrows.  

Brandon steps closer to Jesus but doesn’t touch him:  “Want me to ask her?”

“Yeah…” he whispers.

“He was just hanging out here because he wanted to talk to you, but now he’s nervous you might be mad because he woke you up.   _Are you_  mad he woke you up?” Brandon asks, like he knows Mama will answer and he’s not even worried at all.

“Jesus, I’m not mad at all.  I’m so glad to see you this morning,” Mama’s voice sounds warm.  The same as it did last night.

He glances up. “You aren’t?  I mean, you are?”

“Come downstairs with me, bud.  I’d love to talk to you.”

Jesus starts out lagging behind, but Mama slows her pace so they’re walking next to each other.  It helps.  They go downstairs, and Mama grabs a blueberry muffin and a bottle of water.  They head out to the porch.

It’s right where Jesus wants to be.  He’s feeling a bit too raw for the chair first thing in the morning, especially when both are still in pajamas.

She hands him the food as soon as they’re settled.  “That’s yours.  Just so you know it’s available.”

Jesus nods.

“You can talk to me, bud,” Mama encourages. “I love hearing from you.  And I really loved hanging out with you last night in the chair together.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Me, too,” he admits.  It’s easier to talk knowing that.  “So is it…like…okay if I have questions?  Even if they’re super obvious?”

“Absolutely.  Can I answer anything for you right now?” she asks.

“Just…I thought you might realize overnight that I was dumb a little bit…” he admits.  “And what if you changed your mind and you don’t want me?”

“I can see you’re feeling nervous, and I want to help.  Do you see your new bracelet?” she asks, and Jesus is so relieved Mama isn’t asking him to look at her.

“Yeah.”

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘I love you to the moon and back,’” he quotes, by memory.

“Right.   _I love you_.  Without limits.  I respect you.  I don’t think you’re dumb.  Not even a little bit.”

“But I messed up the essay.  I messed up myself.  I can’t get feedback.  I can’t always understand what you mean when you say things.  That is kinda dumb, isn’t it?”  Jesus looks at Mama, checking for any hint of acknowledgement.  But all he sees is that she’s listening to him.

“You wrote a very good essay, Jesus.  When I read it, I learned new things about you.  Everything was spelled correctly.  You punctuated everything correctly.  You explained to me last night why you hurt yourself.  It was because you were afraid you would be in trouble with me and get hurt because He used to hurt you over your schoolwork.  Right?  You were trying to cope with what you felt was an inevitability.  Given what you’ve gone through?  That makes complete sense.”

“Sometimes, I think it’s stupid. Like, I’m obviously not There anymore, so I shouldn’t do what worked There.  It’s not right to do it.  I know that,” Jesus presses, feeling guilty.

Mama’s quiet for a minute.  Then she says, “When I was growing up, I lived with somebody who made me feel very unsafe.”

Jesus’s eyebrows furrow.

“It’s not the same thing as what you experienced.  Not even close.  But, this person used to do things on purpose to make me sad or scared.  Can I answer something for you?” she asks, probably noticing his expression.

“Is it Nate?” Jesus asks, thinking of the uncle they never see.  And the big thing there was once when Grams and Grandpa Adams came to visit and Nate came too.  Jesus wasn’t there in the room for it.  He and Mariana hung out in his room, but Jesus could hear it.

“Yes.  And whenever Nate would treat me badly, all these words would just pour out of me.  I would get so upset, and I’d decide I was going to make him listen to me.  But he said I was too loud and I needed to be quiet and no one would believe me anyway.”

Jesus is so shocked.  It’s a lot of the same stuff He said.  “So, what happened?”

“When things happened after that…  When Nate did things to hurt my feelings…or my mom…I got quiet.  I stopped talking.  I found it very hard to speak up for myself, because I thought he was right.  No one would listen to me.  A couple years ago, I realized, I was still doing it.  Mom did something - not intentionally - but it hurt my feelings and I couldn’t talk about it.  Literally no words would come out.  I started getting headaches and upset stomach, and finally, I was in counseling one day and it all came out.”

Jesus scoots a little closer to Mama.  He so gets that feeling.

“I had to learn that it was okay to speak up if someone hurt me.  That coping mechanism of shutting down and being quiet?  It worked when I was seven.  It made sense then.  But as an adult, I needed to learn a new way that worked.  Because being quiet wasn’t helping.  It was actually harming me.”

Jesus takes it in, what Mama’s saying.  “That’s maybe what I’m trying to do now…”

“Yes, I agree.  And it takes time.  It’s not easy.  I see how hard you’re working.  I’m paying attention to what you’re saying.  It matters to me.  And I’m going to keep doing anything I can to help you learn that new way for yourself.”

“Was it hard for you?  Do you still shut down sometimes?”

“I do, sometimes.  It was hard.  It is still.  But all we can do in those moments is think about how we can treat ourselves better next time.  Do you feel safe right now?”

“Mm-hmm.  It helps to not feel like I’m the only one who does things…who had hard things happen…”

“You’re not, bud.  Not at all.  I don’t want you to feel alone.”

“Mama?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry Nate hurt you.”

“Thank you, Jesus.  That’s so kind of you to say.  And I’m so sorry  _He_ hurt  _you_.  And made you doubt what a caring, compassionate, honest, smart, amazing person you are.”

Jesus is trying really hard to believe what Mama’s saying.  To take it in.  It’s kinda easier, knowing they’re alike, but it’s still hard.

“Can you help me learn to talk first instead of hurting?” he asks, holding his breath, because it feels like his whole world hinges on her answer to this question.

“I can.  I would love that.  I want you to know that you can always ask questions if you have them.”

“Are there dumb ones?” Jesus checks.

“There are no dumb ones at all.  Only honest ones.”

“Is there a limit on how many or how often I can ask the same question?”

“No limits at all.  I want to hear your questions.  I want to give you answers to what you’re wondering, so you can feel safe.”

“I always kinda think…like…automatic.  That’s part of Level 3.  If something happens?  I think ‘Oh, that makes sense because He said it, too.’  Or I just always fit stuff into that context right away.  That’s why I think I already know and I don’t have questions.”

“If you find yourself comparing something we’re doing to something you experienced There, and thinking that it makes sense because of something He did to you or said to you?  I want you to come to me.  Text me an emoji.  Those are the times you need to be able to ask for clarification, right?”

“Yeah, but I always do it too late…”

“Can I ask you something strange?”

“Yes,” he nods.

“Do you know how Dr. H, pauses us in the office sometimes?  Do you think you could do that with your automatic thoughts?  Or any of the levels?  Try to pause your thoughts if they’re going toward Him in any way, and come find me?”

“That’s the problem,” Jesus admits quietly.  “I think I need  _you_  to find  _me_ …”

“I know things have been beyond tough for you lately.  I know you’re always trying your very best.  I want you to know that I will always find you.  I might make a pest of myself checking in with you, but I will find you.  Okay?  I promise.  I’m going to do my best to make sure you always know you’re here with me, and safe.”

“Okay.  Should we go in?” he asks, and they stand up.  “You said a lot of nice things to me last night and today.  I just want you to know that I really appreciate it.”

“They’re not just nice things, Jesus, they’re true things,” Mama emphasizes softly as they walk to the door.

“Well, thanks for all the  _true_  things then,” he tries again, a small smile touching his lips.


	54. Chapter 54

“You guys were outside a  _long_  time,” Frankie says after Jesus and Mama are back in.  And after breakfast.  And getting dressed.

“We were,” Jesus nods.  “Did you need us?”

“Nope.  I just missed my buddy,” Frankie says.  “Hey!  Since it’s Friday and I don’t got school and you don’t got school, can we have it together?”

This makes Frankie the most excited.  Jesus should say yes because it’s a great idea.  

“What do you mean?” Jesus asks.

“I mean, like, do some art stuff.  Make a picture.  You’re very good at drawing.  I can be the teacher and you can do the project, okay?”

“What if we both did it?  I did one and you do one?”

“Okay,” Frankie nods.  “Mama, we’re gonna do school together.  I can be Jesus’s art teacher.  He even said.”

“I heard that,” Mama says, sounding happy.  “Make sure you talk to each other a lot, and make sure you’re both having fun.  If not, you what?” she checks.

“Stop!” Frankie shouts.

“That’s right, but we’re all right here.  So you don’t need to raise your voice.”  

Mama brings paper and crayons and markers and colored pencils and regular pencils and pens. She puts it all on the table and she sits right by Frankie so she can see her work the best.  She’s across from Jesus so his work will look upside down but that’s okay.

Frankie starts art time the same way her teacher at school does.  She writes her name at the top.

“Jesus, write your name, okay?” Frankie says.  Jesus has all the pencils and pens next to him.  But he doesn’t pick any up.  “Jesus, you said I could be the art teacher.  So write your name, okay?  So we can start.”

Jesus writes J and that’s all.

“Then E, then S then U-with-a-line, then S,” Frankie tells him helpfully.  She knows how to spell everybody in the family’s name.  Mom is easiest to spell.  Jesus is kind of hard because it gots S’s like snakes that are curvy.

But Jesus didn’t even get to the S’s.  Not even to the E.  He just looks like he’s ignoring her.

–

_It’s the last day of November, 2007.  Jesus has been in school - as Josh Mitchell - for five days.  It’s Friday.  There’s a spelling test.  Without thinking, he writes Jesus at the top of the paper._

_Mrs. Lutz doesn’t know who to give it back to Monday.  But when only one kid ended up without a spelling test in front of them she figured it out:_

_“Joshua, I don’t find this funny.  Not one bit.  You need to take this home, and get a parent’s signature, so I know your mother and dad are aware of how much you need to study.”_

_She shows the test to the class.“Just_ two _words right out of 21.”_

_The class snickers.  Jesus has to stand in the corner for wasting Mrs. Lutz’s time.  When he can come back to his desk, he sees the test, with the big red F and a note:_

_Mr/Mrs Mitchell, Joshua has failed his first spelling test.  He used dishonest tactics (see name at the top) to avoid responsibility.  He needs to study far more if he is going to succeed here at Oceanview.  Please discuss this matter with him.  He is to get the test signed and returned to me by Tuesday, 12/4.  J.Z. Lutz_

_After school, Jesus knows he’s going to get it.  First thing, He always rips Jesus’s backpack off his back and goes through it just looking for reasons to punish him.  Today, he doesn’t have to look far._

_He finds the test.  Grabs Jesus by the hair.  Lifts him by the back of his shirt and dangles him over the low wall in the living room.  On the other side of it, stairs go down into the entry way of the house.  It’s a big drop._

_Jesus is screaming._

_So is He:_

_“What’s your name?!”_

_“_ Josh _!”_

_“Why didn’t you write Josh, dumbass?!”_

_“_ I don’t know _!”_

_Jesus remembers the feeling of His grip loosening.  The stairs below him.  Just hanging in the air with nothing to grab onto._

_At the last second, He pulls Jesus back over the wall and drops him on the carpet.  He throws a notebook at him, hard.  A pencil._

_“Write it!” He screams and Jesus does with a shaking hand:_

_Josh_

_“Your full name, dumbass!  I want every page of that notebook filled!  And then you’re gonna study these damn words, until you can spell them all right!  Understand?”_

_Jesus’s cheek stings with the unexpected slap.  His whole head goes to the side.  And his ear is ringing.  Jesus stays up so late that night, just lying on the floor by that wall, writing the name Josh over and over.  Studying words like_ endangered _(which he got wrong) and_ zero _(right.)_

Jesus blinks.  

Writing his actual, real name, sometimes still gives him that feeling that he’s dangling in the air about to be dropped on his head.

Staring at that J is making his eyes hurt like seeing light after months in the dark.  He’s going back and forth in the chair just to be positive he’s in a chair and not just hanging.

–

Lena’s been listening to Frankie and Jesus as they get ready to do an art project together.  She’s not watching them like a hawk, but she is at the table with them and looks up from her calendar often, to check on their progress.

She hears Frankie instructing Jesus to write his name.  In the breath before Frankie whines that Jesus isn’t listening, Lena hears it.  Jesus rocking in the hard kitchen chair.

Out of her own, and around the table, Lena moves in front of Jesus.  His face is so blank.  Lena knows this must be one of the levels.  Maybe three.

“Jesus?  Take it easy, okay?  It’s Mama.  I’m right here.  Frankie?  Will you go grab a bottle of water for Jesus, please?  There’s one on the table by the big chair in the living room.  And the Junior Mints out of the drawer.”

“Yes,” Frankie answers, timid.  

She’s back, slower than usual, because Lena’s found that Frankie trying to rush actually has the opposite effect.  But she’s here, with the water and the candy.

“Can I have some?” Frankie asks, her voice shaking a little.

“Let’s see if Jesus wants some first,” Lena explains.  “Jesus, we’re right here.  And you’re safe.  And we respect you, right?” she asks Frankie.

“Yes, and we know you’re a human bean and not a thing.  Only a person,” Frankie says so seriously Lena could kiss her.

“That’s right,” she says, focusing on Jesus.  “We know you’re a human being.  Take a slow deep breath for me?”

Jesus does.  Eventually, he takes the water.  One Junior Mint.  Lena can see it’s having an effect.  She doesn’t ask him to stop rocking.  He’s not hurting his head.  Or rocking particularly hard.  Long minutes crawl by and slowly, life seeps back into Jesus’s eyes.  And fear.

“Honey, whatever’s scaring you?  It’s not on purpose.  It’s okay to talk to us.  Can I answer anything for you right now?”

Jesus shakes his head.  Swallows.

Frankie, showing admirable self control, offers Jesus one Junior Mint instead of eating it herself.

He takes it.

“I can’t…” he finally manages.  A little breathless.

“Okay,” Lena answers calmly.  “We don’t want you to do anything that makes you feel scared, do we, Frankie?”

(Frankie can’t resist anymore and eats one Junior Mint.)  She shakes her head.

“You’re doing so great, Jesus.  Stay with me, okay?  Can you tell me anything else?  Is there something I can do to help you?”

“My name…” he whispers to his lap.

Lena sees it then.  His blank paper with just a  _J_  at the top.  Chill bumps raise on Lena’s arms.  She knows her son was forced to go by Josh or Joshua in captivity.  That early on, to get him to respond to his name was beyond difficult because it seemed like he was just willfully ignoring them.  It wasn’t until they found Holly Hitchens, a trauma therapist who worked with children and adolescents, that Lena learned that Jesus’s real name, could, in the wrong moment, be a trigger.

It isn’t something she’s thought about for a while.  But Lena knows her next words are beyond important, so she chooses them carefully.  “You don’t have to write your name, if it makes you feel unsafe, Jesus.  Frankie knows which one your paper is, don’t you?” she asks Frankie.

“Yeah.  I do, buddy, okay?  You don’t have to write anything.  You can just draw if you want.  You’re great at that.”

Jesus is still not convinced.  Still looking down at his lap.  But he’s stopped rocking.

“Do you need something to be different?” Lena tries, one of the questions Holly suggested early on, particularly when Jesus seemed stuck on something.

“I need new paper,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“Here,” Frankie says magnanimously, presenting him with a fresh sheet of paper.  “Now, do you want to draw something that makes you happy?”

–

Frankie’s question is the perfect one to help Jesus move forward.  Mama stays close, maybe because he reaches for her when she stands up.  So she takes the chair on the other side of him as he draws with one hand and holds her hand in the other.

“What are you drawing, Frankie?” Mama asks.  “What makes you happy?”

“Ummm….” Frankie draws out the word super long.  “Rainbow!  Jesus, are you drawing a rainbow?”

“I’m not,” he says softly.  “I’m choosing something different, okay?”

“That is okay, Jesus.  ‘Cause you can have any choice you want.  Right, Mama?”

“That’s right.  People can make all kinds of choices.  And that’s okay.”

Jesus is concentrating on his paper.  He can feel Mama watching him but he doesn’t mind.  Frankie is all into her rainbow.  Jesus keeps looking her direction.

“Good job staying in the lines, Jesus,” Frankie praises, and Jesus almost smiles.  Can tell she’s not really paying attention to what he’s doing or she’d know he’s not coloring in anything.  Just using pencil.

“Thanks, buddy,” Jesus manages.  He clears his throat.  “And thanks, Mama,” he says, dropping his voice.  “For noticing me…and for remembering what I needed…”

“Of course, honey.  Do you feel safe now?”

“Mostly.  It’s like in the background right now.”

“What is?  Your fear?”

“Right,” he nods.

“Um guys, excuse me but I really need to give Jesus a smiling face,” Frankie interrupts.  

Jesus watches as she carefully peels off one sticker with a happy face and reaches over to stick it on his paper.  “For doing your best at art and doing your feelings.”

“Well, this…” he says, turning the paper around, “is actually for you.  You’re who makes me happy, buddy.  So I drew you.”

Frankie’s mouth drops open at the pencil sketch of her, bent over her paper, tongue sticking out as she concentrated on drawing her rainbow.  It’s super lifelike.  Probably one of the best sketches he’s ever done.

“That’s like a picture for real,” she says, impressed.  “Like you take with your phone.  Can we hang it up?”

“You can do whatever you want with it, buddy, it’s yours,” Jesus says, still feeling a little edgy.

“I’ll never rip this, okay,” Frankie vows, and Jesus knows she’s thinking back to one day last fall when he couldn’t walk with her to school.  She destroyed a picture she made, because she was mad at him.

“That’s awesome, buddy.  I’m glad,” Jesus says, and means it.

–

Lena’s still watching out for Jesus.  She also agrees with Frankie that he’s obviously talented, and goes to work finding a frame that will fit around Jesus’s amazing sketch of Frankie.  Jesus and Frankie trail her from room to room.

When Lena finds what she’s looking for, she goes to the girls’ room, to set it on Frankie’s bookcase.  It’s as she’s putting it in the frame that she spots three tiny letters in the lower right corner:  _JAF_

She looks behind her, through the open doorway and into the hall where Jesus and Frankie are laughing about something.

Lena feels her heart swell with pride:

He’d found a way to sign his name after all.


	55. Chapter 55

Pearl has tried to psych herself up all day, but going to the post office simply is not happening.

She’s started to get ready half a dozen times.  Sometimes, she’s gotten as far as starting the car, but just sitting in the driver’s seat made flashbacks grip her hard.  (Jared in the seat next to her.  Telling her to drive.  Now.)  Any pressure at all makes Pearl remember that pressure.  That night.  

It’s beyond imagining why at sixteen, Pearl could endure what she had, but at 31, she can’t run a simple errand.

It would be okay if this could wait.  But without pressure, Pearl also lacked motivation.  It’s crunch time now, because she knows she has to go.  It’s for work.  Someone paid for their cute little Lhasa Apso to have a sweater and the last thing Pearl wants is for an adorable little dog to freeze because she’s incompetent and can’t make a post office run.

She just can’t make herself do it.  The more the pressure, the less motivated she is.  Instead, she curls up on the couch with Gracie.  She knows she needs to touch base with somebody, but Char has an actual in-person support group thing (mortifying) and it’s Pav’s husband’s birthday.

And that leaves Jesus.  Who hasn’t really been in the touching base place for her.  Which is fine.  It’s just that, if left to her own devices, Pearl would hole up here, and never leave.

It’s happened before.  It was her life before she got Gracie.

As if she knows what’s on Pearl’s mind, Gracie licks her face.  

“I know we can try again tomorrow, but I don’t want to go into town at all,” Pearl whines.  There’s nobody here but her and Gracie.  Nobody to judge her totally childlike moment of just being done with everything.

Gracie cocks her head.  

“I don’t know why.  Do I need a reason?” Pearl asks, pulling a blanket up around her.

–

Friday afternoon, Jesus walks into therapy with Dr. H. carrying his new backpack from Mama. He still has his scarf on.  And his new bracelet.  And Jesus really wants to be able to talk about some of this stuff.  Why it’s significant.  Why it helps him feel safe.

His phone chimes with a text from Pearl:

_It’s official.  I am officially a failure at going to the post office.  Gracie told me I should go, but I couldn’t get out the door.  Now I have to go tomorrow or this stupid dog sweater will be late.  Not how I want to spend my Saturday._

Quickly, Jesus sends a string of emojis back her way.  A heart.  A dog.  A present.  And a message that says:

_Call when you go.  I can be your backup._

After that, he turns the volume down on his phone and gets to work.  

First, he gets grounded, and then he updates Dr. H. about the last twenty-four hours. He tells her about relapsing, and getting hard feedback on his essay and how that triggered him.  How they talked it out and Mama explained why she did what she did and how it was different.  That it led to some great conversations, especially with Mama, where Jesus was able to open up.

“I’ve been able to share stuff with her I haven’t really told anybody in my family yet.  Like about my disappearing and how it has different levels and all that.  She asked what she could do to help and I told her some stuff.  Today - this morning - she noticed I was having trouble, and she came and helped me before it got bad.”

“How did that make you feel?” Dr. H. asks.

“Not invisible,” Jesus says.

“I see.  And what emotion were you feeling when your mother noticed you were having trouble?”

“I felt…hopeful…” Jesus ventures.

“Why were you feeling hopeful?”

“Because she was following through.  Because she didn’t just tell me she would do something to help she actually followed through.  Not in the way she thought I needed…but the way I actually needed.”

“I understand.  You deserve to feel hopeful, Jesus.  It sounds like you and your mother have made some great steps in a short period of time.”

He nods.  Then they pause to breathe and refocus.  Dr. H. asks if he wants to share about the things he brought to the office.

“Well…speaking of following through in the way I needed…  Remember earlier this week when Mama threw the food in my backpack away?  And she didn’t ask me?”

“I do.”

“And we talked about what I’d need if there was ever a next time and I said I’d need her to give me another backpack with food in it before she took the other one.  So,” he holds out the bag.  Swallows back the lump in his throat.

“I’d like you to breathe and see if you can finish your thought, Jesus.  I can see you’re feeling emotional.  That’s okay in here.  Your feelings are safe.  You won’t be mocked or hurt in any way.”

Jesus drags in a shaky breath.  Looks at Dr. H. even though she’s all blurry.  “Mama gave this to me…” he confesses softly.

“What feeling does that bring up?” she checks.

“Overwhelm…” Jesus hedges.

“It’s okay to be overwhelmed, Jesus.  That’s perfectly reasonable. Is it safe to assume there’s food in this backpack, as well?”

“Yes…” he breathes.  “I need to do a sidenote.  But it’s still on topic.  You know how when I was at the cabin a lot of stuff came up about Isaac?”

Dr. H. nods, listening.

“Well, I realized, talking to Pearl one day that I was hoarding all the food in that backpack kinda like… _for_  him…” Jesus ventures.  “Like, I couldn’t save him, but I could save the food.  And our main connection was really me bringing him food.  We talked about it.  Once I stole cupcakes from The House when he said it was his birthday.  The Hostess ones.  And so there was two, and I helped him eat one.  But he wouldn’t take the second one.  He said it was for me.  Because we found out our birthdays were a week apart…”

“So, is it fair to say that food is something very powerful that you two shared?”

“Yes.  Can I show you what’s in the bag?” Jesus asks.  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  Just carefully assembles everything on the low table between them.  The food from Mama.  The box of cupcakes from Pearl.  The letter from Mama.  The letter he wrote for Isaac.  And the picture.

“I see Hostess cupcakes.  That’s significant.  From your mother?” Dr. H. asks.

“No, Pearl sent those when she realized what happened with the other bag.”

“How did that resonate?  Did you find it difficult to receive them?”

“No, actually.  It’s like…she paid attention to what I was saying.  And sent me something that she knew mattered to me.”

“You found it validating.”

“Right.”

“And when your mother got rid of the food in the other backpack?  I can see why that felt like a very big loss.”

“Yeah,” Jesus sighs.

After a pause, she asks.  “Would you say you hoarding at the cabin was just about Isaac and your grief over him…or was it also about you, Jesus?”

“Oh, it was for sure about me, too.”

“How so?”

“Because it was a new place,” he starts deliberately.  He knows how easily he could get carried away in the fear of these memories.  “I was away from home.  I hadn’t been away from home since I got back.  So being away, of course, meant that I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat.  Or how long I’d have access to food that was there.  And…I kept misinterpreting, I think?”

“Tell me about misinterpreting.  What did you misinterpret?”

“Well, like, one morning, Mama had said something like, ‘Go take a shower and then we can eat breakfast.’  Now, I get that she probably meant if I showered first, by the time I was done, breakfast would be ready.  But I heard…that I wouldn’t get breakfast  _unless_  I showered.”

“That must’ve felt very unsafe.”

“It did,” Jesus nods.

“Do you still feel the compulsion to hoard now that you’re home?” Dr. H. asks.

“I feel the compulsion to do  _other_ things…” Jesus mutters, looking away.

“Feel your feet on the floor? Press down.  Sit up straight.  Head up, please,” she cues.  “Now take a breath.  She waits while Jesus does.  “Do you feel safe right now?”

“My skin is crawling…” he admits.  Without thinking, Jesus takes the scarf off from around his neck and winds it around his left wrist, which got the worst of it, and still has bandaids.  The only bad thing is now he can’t see his new bracelet from Mama.

“Let’s give your hands something else to do.  Something to keep them busy.  Would you like to put things back in your backpack?  Draw?”

“Both,” he blurts.  And Jesus reaches out to put everything back in its place in the backpack.  Then, he accepts the sketch pad from Dr. H.  He doesn’t realize he’s basically curled in the chair until Dr. H. asks if he can put his feet on the floor, please.  (It’s so she has an eyeline to his hands, he knows.)

So Jesus makes an attempt to organize himself.  Repositioning the sketchpad on his lap, with his feet flat on the floor.  Starts drawing.

Dr. H. is quiet, not asking Jesus to split his focus, which he needs all of to reroute the seriously intense urges happening right now.  He concentrates on what he’s doing.  And slowly, starts to talk.

“I drew a really awesome picture of my baby sis today,” Jesus confides, choosing to share this - something that gives him pride - over something that might cause him to slip up (like hoarding.)

“Would you like to tell me anymore about it?’ Dr. H. asks, and Jesus talks about how Frankie had pretended to be his art teacher and asked him if he wanted to draw what made him happy.

“She makes me happy, so I drew her.  And she really liked the drawing.  Said it was like a picture you take with your phone.  It  _was_  probably one of my best…  Mama even framed it and put it in her room,” Jesus muses letting his mind get consumed by pencil strokes against an empty page, not by giving in and letting the unhealthy part of him have another win.

“We have about five minutes left,” Dr. H. says calmly.  “How are you feeling?”

“Better.  It’s gone for now.  The weird sensations,” Jesus realizes.

“I think you handled that beautifully, Jesus.” Dr. H. says.

“How?” he wonders.

“You alerted me to how you were feeling.  You picked another activity to focus on and you talked about something positive while you did it.  I’m very proud of you.”

Jesus can feel his ears get hot.  “Thanks,” he mutters, keeping eye contact, because it’s what they do in here.  “Um…  Here…” he says, laying the sketchpad on the table, facing the doc.

“You’re extremely talented, Jesus,” Dr. H. tells him, looking honest-to-God intrigued.

“I wanna say before I have to leave…it’s not the hoarding that’s an issue for me anymore.  It’s…managing this…” he admits, nodding at his wrist, still wrapped in the scarf from Pearl.  Dr. H. listens, in case he has more to say.  Turns out, he does.  “I have a question.  Are you disappointed?  I mean, that I relapsed yesterday?”

“No.  I’m not disappointed that you relapsed yesterday, Jesus.  Relapse is expected.  It’s a part of recovery.  And by your own account, it sounds like you’re beginning to trust those around you to help keep you safe.  And that’s an impressive thing, indeed.  Over the weekend?  Keep it up.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.  Practice coping in a way that prioritizes your mental health and your safety.  Practice alerting your safe people when you feel overwhelmed.  Perhaps, tell your mother, when she comes to pick you up, about needing to keep your hands busy when you’re feeling triggered to harm yourself.  Choose something you enjoy that takes a lot of your concentration.  I highly recommend sketching or drawing.  This is impressive, Jesus,” Dr. H. emphasizes, still studying the picture he drew.  “What inspired this?  Can I ask?”

“It’s something that helped me cope,” he shares.

“May I hang it up?  It’s possible, seeing it might help someone else cope…”

“Yeah.  That would be awesome,” he nods.

Jesus gives his drawing one last glance before he leaves the office.  Snapping a pic to send to Pearl before he goes:

Because on the page, Jesus has drawn a tree.


	56. Chapter 56

When Pearl wakes up Saturday morning, she feels exhausted.  She’s been having unnerving dreams all night long.  When she was finally able to drop off and get some sleep, Gracie was up, her nails clicking on the wood floors.

Pearl pulls the blankets up over her head.  She can’t face this day.

It’s 7:30 when Gracie starts seriously whining to go out.  Pearl knows if she doesn’t get a move on, Gracie is going to pee on her floor.  So, she gets up, and takes her out, because she has to.  Because Gracie takes her of her, and Pearl takes care of Gracie - it’s mutual.

They’re back inside after a walk.  It’s 7:45 now.  The post office here in Deerwood is only open for an hour this morning, from 9:00 to 10:00 AM.  Pearl figures she has to give herself at least a half an hour of mental preparation and self care to be able to get out the door.  She doesn’t have an appetite yet, but she drinks a little water once she feeds Gracie.  Then, she spends a few minutes in the swing, looking at her lights.  It helps, but not as much as it typically might.

At 8:00, she takes out her journal:

_1-10-15_

_If I know anything, it’s how to procrastinate.  Oh, I’m a world-class procrastinator.  It’s kind of ridiculous.  So, here I am.  Had two weeks to get this doggie sweater knitted and mailed.  Had it knitted in plenty of time.  But now it’s the last possible day to go to the post office and I am a wreck.  I have an hour window to run this errand and all I feel is dread.  It’s awful.  (Why I didn’t take it with me when I mailed Jesus’s package is beyond me.)_

_Speaking of Jesus, he offered to be my backup if I called him but it’s two hours earlier in California.  No teenager wants to get woken up at 7 AM on the weekend.  I’m going to see if Gracie and I can manage this ourselves.  Not sure how wise that is, but it’s how I operate.  Solo._

_Deep breaths, Pearl.  You’ve done this before.  Everything’s been fine.  Not everyone is a threat.  Be reasonable.  You can do this._

No matter how many rational statements Pearl tries to make to herself, the idea of eating anything makes her stomach roll in revulsion.  Maybe, she’ll be hungry once she gets back.  

She gives herself plenty of time to get ready.  Tries to do what Jesus’s therapist is always advising him and take things one at a time.  

“Just focus on putting your coat on,” she says.  Then, “You’re just getting Gracie’s leash.” Step by step, until Pearl is “just turning on the car,” and “just pulling out of the drive,” at 8:42.

Gracie’s here with her, the best co-pilot.  Always happy to ride in the car in case she sees a friendly human who wants to give her a treat.  But she’s fully focused on Pearl right now, which is what Pearl needs.  

At 9:11, Pearl pulls into the parking lot of the Deerwood post office.  She allows herself a minute to psych herself up before going inside.  “You with me, girl?” she asks Gracie lowly.  Gracie stays with her, step for step.

As she approaches the doors, Pearl can feel her hands start to shake in earnest.  Her breathing and heart rate speed up.  There are several cars here.  It might be busy.  She doesn’t handle crowds well.  The more people around, the greater chance someone will feel emboldened to bring up what happened to her.  Everyone knows everyone here.  They’d all be thinking about it.

Gracie presses her nose into Pearl’s hand.  Pearl realizes she’s stopped just short of going inside.  She takes a steadying breath, pulls open the door, and walks inside, taking an immediate right and nearly blacking out at the sight of the long line of people at the counter with packages.

Packages.

Damn it.

Pearl realizes too late that her package is on the passenger seat of her car.  So, it’s back outside again.  She’s hurrying.  Hoping that the long line will inch forward in a timely fashion and that no one new will line up behind Steve and Sue, the middle aged couple with two grown sons.  (Their oldest is five years younger than Pearl.)

She gets to the car, fumbles the package, but manages to hold on.  Skates across the icy parking lot again and then is inside.  No one has taken her spot behind Steve and Sue.  The line looks like it’s progressed.  Pearl’s package is boxed and addressed already, time savers, when she is already on a deadline.

But that means Pearl is stuck looking around her.  Dealing with the line that’s literally at a standstill because some college kid at the front of the line has no idea how to address his package.  

“I thought you guys did that…” he says, perplexed.

Against her will, a rueful smile appears on Pearl’s face.  She listens in as the post office worker, a sweet blonde named Jolly, patiently explains that “No, sir.  We cannot read your mind.  I’m sorry, but unless you have the address where you’re sending the package, we can’t help you.”

Pearl glances at her phone.  9:20.  The line is moving, but there are several people ahead of her.

“Max, where’s your address book?” Steve teases.

“My what?” the college kid asks.

“Oh honey, leave him alone,” Sue smiles.  She turns a little, to see Max leave and catches Pearl’s eye.

Pearl holds her breath.

“Morning,” Sue greets.  “Long line, huh?” she says frowning.

“Yeah,” Pearl exhales, relieved at the miracle of Sue not joining the ranks of all the people in Deerwood who want to discuss what a star her rapist is.  Or claim that because Pearl didn’t immediately report the assault that it must mean nothing happened to her in the first place.

Pearl tries to be patient while Steve enthusiastically greets Jolly and asks after her cat, her mom, and her little brother.  She knows Steve’s a friendly guy but this is excruciating.  She just needs to mail this one thing and then she can get out of here and be back home.  No worse for wear.  Her stomach growls.

Gracie turns her head, curious.  

“Mind your business, please,” Pearl whispers.

Finally, it’s Pearl’s turn at the counter.  She hands the package to Jolly, who greets Pearl warmly and compliments Gracie.  

“She is such a beautiful dog. And she’s so well-behaved,” Jolly praises.

“Just this, please.”

Pearl answers the questions about delivery preferences and if she wants insurance on the package.  If she needs stamps.  She does, actually, and buys a sheet with hearts.

It’s almost 9:30, according to the clock on the wall, when her package is safely on its way to Rhode Island.  

Pearl’s trying to juggle Gracie’s leash, her stamps, her receipt, her keys and her phone, when a voice says, “Here, let me get that for you.”

All the hair on the back of Pearl’s neck raises up.  The voice is the same.  He smells the same.  Like the nasty Cool Water cologne he wore to work.

Jared.

He’s 34 now.  Thinner hair.  Three children are around him.  All under five years old.  

She locks eyes with him.

“Pearl,” he says and nods, like he’s a gentleman doing her a favor and not the person who ruined her.  Who traumatized her.  Who nearly killed her.

He brushes past her on the way in, struggling to hold the hands of all three kids simultaneously.  Her skin feels hot where his coat brushed hers.

She can’t focus.  Can’t breathe.  All sound has tunnelled around her.  But Gracie’s pulling at her.  Pushing her nose into Pearl’s hand.  Pulling at her sleeve with her teeth.

It jolts Pearl forward and she makes it to the car.  With shaking hands, she unlocks the door.  Gets herself and Gracie both in.  Locks the doors.  Fumbles her phone.  Finds her contact list by accident, and her mind races with who she can call.  

Jesus’s name rises to the surface of her panic.  Pav and Char might freak out too if they knew Pearl had come face to face with her perpetrator but Jesus had outsmarted his.  According to Mariana, he has street smarts in spades.  A skill set she desperately needs.  It feels like her brain is shorting out.  She has no idea how to move forward.  What the next step even is, much less, how to move.

She still can’t hear anything but her own blood rushing in her ears.  She can’t speak.  Can’t catch her breath.  She forces her shaking hand to follow one more command and tap Jesus’s name.  She has no idea what she’ll do if he picks up.  If she’ll even be able to tell he has or not.  She just hopes he doesn’t hang up.  She hopes he’ll stay with her.

–

Jesus is half asleep on his blankets, but awake enough to be aware of all the little noises the house is making.  He’s not ready to start moving yet.  Wants to just take it easy.  All the intense therapy and Moms always checking in with him, and having to be so aware of when he might need help from them is tiring him out.  

But he’s still hanging in there.  No hurting himself since Thursday afternoon and it’s Saturday morning.  Mom’s still on bandaid patrol and he’s glad.  Looking at his own marks would make it super hard to keep treating himself okay.  Having them covered with bandaids and long sleeves is helping.

His phone rings with the Let It Snow ringtone he picked just for Pearl.  He glances at the time.  7:28 AM.  She must be going to the post office.  He picks up.

“Hey, are you on the way or are you there already?” Jesus asks.

Nothing.

In the background, he can hear Gracie whining.  Yipping.  

“Pearl?  Are you okay?” Jesus tries again, sitting up.  “Can you talk?”

Nothing…but…breathing.  Heavy.  Hard.  And Gracie in the background.  

“Hey.  It’s Jesus.  Can you hear me?  Whatever it is, it’s okay.  I’m here with you.  We have time.  Just take your time, alright?  Try to catch your breath.”

Nothing.

His arms get chills all over.  Jesus can feel the hair standing up on end.  But he’s got to keep trying.  “Pearl.  It’s Jesus.  It’s okay.  If you can hear me, say something.”

One minute crawls by.  Another twenty seconds.  Then, her voice, just a whisper, desperate: “He’s here.  I saw him.”

“Where did you see him?  Are you still at the post office?” Jesus asks, his heartbeat speeding up.

“The post office.  The parking lot.  The car.  The post office.  The parking lot–”

Jesus tries to take a deep breath.  To sound calm.  Because Pearl is clearly scared to death.  “Pearl.  Stop.  Okay.  Listen to me.  Take a deep breath.  Right?  Can you?”

It works and she stops rambling.  Repeating the same three places in a hysterical loop.  She’s breathing.

“Okay.  Awesome.  Can you tell me what happened when you saw him?”

“He held the door open for me…” she manages, her voice shaking.  “Said my name.”  It breaks.  Jesus can hear her crying and feels like breaking something.  Powerless.

“Where are you right now?  Look around and tell me.  Are you safe?”

“Locked in my car…” she breathes sounding shaky still.  “Jesus, I don’t know what to do!  I can’t drive right now!  I can’t leave…”

“Okay.  But Gracie’s there with you, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, let her help you calm down.  Just do that for a minute.”

It’s quiet on the other end of the phone, while Jesus goes to Moms’ bedroom door and knocks.  He knows better than to try to handle this by himself.

“Jesus?  What is it, love?” Mom asks.

“Pearl.  She says she saw the guy who did the thing to her.  She’s really upset.  I’m handling it but I wanna be sure I’m telling her to do the right things.  Not something that’s gonna put her in more danger.  “Pearl,” he tries, talking to her.

“What?”

“I have Stef here.  Is that okay?” he asks.

“Put her on speaker,” Stef instructs.  By now they are downstairs, and Mom is going out front, on the porch.  Jesus follows, putting the phone on speaker.

“Where is he now, Pearl?” Mom insists.

“I don’t know where he is…” Pearl whispers.  “But he has children with him…”

“Do you know what his car looks like?” she tries.

“No.”

“Did you see him come out?” Mom tries.

“No.”

“She says she can’t drive right now,” Jesus passes along.  “She’s too panicked.”

“That’s okay.  You just stay where you are.”

Jesus looks at Mom.  She’s nodding back at him.  “Try to help her stay calm.”

“We have time,” he manages.  “You’re gonna be okay.  Just stay with us. We have time.”

Jesus can hear Gracie whining.  Pearl’s ragged breathing.  And he wishes he could just climb through the phone and go help her.  But she’s alone there.  He’s got to help her figure this out from where he is now.  


	57. Chapter 57

Pearl’s hands are shaking on the steering wheel.  Her phone is on speaker so she can talk without having to hold it.  She can’t move.  Can’t think.  It’s 9:32.  Six minutes since she saw him.  She keeps checking the rearview mirror, but hasn’t seen him come out yet.  Steve and Sue.  But not him.

With those three kids in tow, she’ll definitely notice when he comes out.

Kids.

The thought makes her sick to her stomach.  How could a man like that have kids?  Pearl can’t stop crying.  She can’t focus.  Can’t breathe.  Can’t hear Jesus or Stef.  

Gracie’s with her, though.  She’s come up on the passenger seat and stretched across it so her front paws are on Pearl’s lap.  She’s whining and licking Pearl’s face.  It helps.  Just barely, but it helps.

“I’m not going to be able to calm down until I know he’s gone…” she manages, gasping every few words.

“I know,” Jesus offers. Not advice.  Not a directive.  Just understanding.  He gets what a hellish experience this must be for her.

“Just stay where you are.  Don’t try to drive anywhere.  Let me know when you see him leave.”  Stef.  With all the advice and directives.  Well, Pearl needs someone to advise her.  She has no idea how to cope with seeing him for the first time in fifteen years.

She’s seen his picture, sure.  He’s been in the papers at the center of the town gossip, but not for what he’d done to her.  That, somehow, had only smeared Pearl’s name.  It’s everything that being in close proximity to him brings up.  The scent of him.  His eyes on her.  His categorical denial of having done anything wrong at all, even at the time.

“I’m sorry for calling.  For bothering you.  God, I’m such an idiot.  It’s early there…” Pearl rants trying to catch her breath.

Gracie’s still right in Pearl’s space trying to calm her down the best she can.  Having her there anchors Pearl in the present in the way nothing else can.  Surrounded by all these people and places she knew at sixteen, it’s hard not to feel pulled back through time.  But Pearl hadn’t had Gracie then.  

“Hey.  It’s okay,” Jesus insists.  “I don’t mind.  I was up anyway.”

“It’s the weekend…” she manages.  “Saturday!  God, I’m a horrible person.  Just hang up with me.  I’m fine…” she sobs.

Her phone clicks off, almost causing Pearl to hyperventilate until she sees the Skype call coming through.  From Jesus.  She thinks about not answering.  But what would she do without somebody to help ground her?  Gracie’s doing great, but Pearl needs all the help she can get.

Reaching out a shaky hand, she hits the green button and waits.  Jesus’s concerned face and messy bed hair fill the screen. Pearl tries not to focus on what her own face must look like right now.

“I know you’re not fine.  And that’s okay.  You can be however you are,” Jesus says patiently as Pearl looks away.  Her eyes flick to the clock inside the car.  9:39.  

“God, where  _is_  he?” she insists, craning her neck around to see.

“Try to breathe,” Jesus says gently.  “I’m right here.  I called so you could see me.  Like you called me, remember?  In the car?  And a bunch of other times?  I think it helps to see each other.  What do you think?”

“He has  _children_ ….  How is someone like him even allowed to have kids?!”

“Pearl.  Hey,” Stef’s firm and in control voice.  Her face fills the screen.  “You need to talk to us.  When you see anyone come out, check your mirror and tell me if you see him leaving the area.  Are there other cars still in the lot?”

“Not around me, but yeah…”

“Okay.  I know you’re worried.  I want you to stay with us.”

“Mom, I got her,” Jesus interjects, and his face fills the screen.  “I got you.  Okay?  I’m not right there, but I have your back.  Don’t think about him right now.  What do you need?  Do you know?”

“Just talk to me…about anything else…”

“Okay…I drew a tree yesterday in therapy,” he offers.

This gets through.  Pearl can feel her gaze sharpen even with the tears and the shaking and the racing thoughts and the freezing and the shorting out of her brain.  “Really?” she asks, touched.

“Yeah.  You wanna think about growing?  I know trees don’t usually grow in cars, but it might help.  Think about growing more steady.  More firmly rooted.  All that stuff you said to me.  Try to breathe slower if you can.”

Pearl does try.  It’s awful.  Her body feels like it’s completely out of her control.  She can’t stop shaking.  It reminds her of that long night in the woods.  She can’t even focus her mind much less her energy.

“The post office is only open until 10:00!  It’s 9:45.  He’s been in there almost twenty minutes.  No one needs to take that long!”

Gracie licks her face.

“If I had just come yesterday or brought it last week when I was here, none of this would be happening…” Pearl moans.  

“It’s not on you at all,” Jesus says.  “It’s not.  You deserve to be able to go out and live your life without being scared all the time.  If he saw you coming, it was on him to turn the hell around and walk the other way.”

For a while, all Pearl can do is cry quietly.  She knows Jesus is trying to help, and he is, but she feels so alone out here.  She wishes somebody were here to help her.  To get her home safely.  So she didn’t have to sit here in terror for a half an hour while she…

“He’s coming out…” she says suddenly, sitting forward, her eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.  “With the post office employee.  They’re talking.  Laughing.  She’s helping him with the kids.  He’s getting in his car.”  Pearl holds her breath.  Watches Jolly wave as he pulls out and turns onto the main road.

She watches until she can’t see his car anymore.

“He’s gone,” Pearl sighs.  Then she cuts the call, leans out the door, and vomits in the parking lot.

–

“Mom.  Where is she?” Jesus asks, eyes wide.  “Seriously.  Why would she just hang up like that?”

“Honey, I don’t know.  If you need a break, you should go in and talk to Mama.  I’ll keep trying to get a hold of Pearl.  Make sure she’s okay.  But we need to make sure you’re taken care of, too, yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

“And this is very stressful on you.  So I am calling ‘Time’ right now.  Go take a break,” Stef opens the door and calls inside for Lena, making sure she hears a response before sending Jesus inside.

When she’s alone, Stef calls Pearl back on her own phone.  Keeps calling, until Pearl picks up.

“What?” she says in a ragged voice.

“Pearl?  It’s Stef.  How are you, love?”

Nothing.

“Pearl?  I know it’s hard but I need you to answer me.  Are you okay?”

“No…” she manages, voice breaking.

“Okay.  Stay on the phone.  You’re still safe, though, yes?  He’s gone?  You’re still in your car with the doors locked?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  So, we’ll just hang out here together.  I sent Jesus in to talk to Lena for a bit, so you don’t have to worry about keeping it together for him.”

“I wasn’t,” Pearl sniffs.  “Some role model I am, right?”

“You are, actually,” Stef says warmly.  “I’m very glad Jesus has you to talk to.  Lena and I try to be there for him as best we can, but when it comes down to it, we don’t understand.  He needs to have someone he can relate to.  Someone older, who can tell him it’s going to be okay.”

“But it’s not…” Pearl whispers.  “It’s not okay.”

“Well, Jesus hasn’t had it easy lately either, love.  And I hesitate to speak for him, but I’d like to think that it’s reassuring for him to know that he’s not the only one struggling.  It’s okay to have hard days.  It’s not okay what happened to you, but your reaction to it makes sense.”

“You don’t have to be so nice to me… “ Pearl mutters.  “I realize I’m a huge mess.”

Jesus sticks his head out the door.  “Mom?  Can I talk to Pearl?”

“Did you take a break with Mama?” Stef checks.

“Yeah.  I showed her and Frankie how to grow like trees.  They even did it with me.”

Stef gives Jesus a confused look.  She misses out on so many references having five teenagers, and this tree thing of Jesus and Pearl’s is no different.

“It’s a grounding thing I taught him,” Pearl offers tearfully.

“I see.  Well, I’ll leave the porch to you both,” Stef says as Jesus calls Pearl back from his own phone.  “Pearl, you let us know when you’re home safely, please, and Jesus?  If you start to feel unsafe, let someone know.”

“I know.  I will,” he answers.

–

Jesus is in such a better place after talking Mama and Frankie through growing like trees.  It was hard for Frankie, but she managed, when he, she and Mama all held hands as they grew.  He’s thinking that everyone could benefit from Pearl’s version of grounding, but for now, Jesus is focused on actually being there for Pearl.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I still have to drive home,” Pearl offers, sounding hollow.  Empty.  It’s nerve-wracking seeing her like this.  

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.  There’s time,” he offers.  “I know it’s hard, but try not to shut down.  Okay?  Please?”

It’s a comfort that Jesus can clearly see Gracie all over Pearl.  With all that on her lap, there’s no way she can shut down totally.  Jesus hopes, anyway.

“Do you have any food with you?  Anything sweet?” he asks.  “I don’t know why, but sugar seems to help me when I’m super scared.”

Jesus waits as Pearl struggles to glance around Gracie.  “I have old dressing from a Chinese place…and an expired can of Coke…” Pearl grimaces.

He watches as she tries to steady herself enough to open the can.  Wishes he could just reach out and help her.  Offer it to her the way his Moms help him when he can’t manage.  But Pearl opens it on her own and takes a small sip.

“Surprised it’s not frozen solid,” Jesus jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

“Amazingly, no.  Gracie, back.  You can’t drink this,” Pearl admonishes, sounding a lot more like herself.  She’s still shaking but she seems to be coming around.  She takes another sip.  “This is seriously disgusting.”

“Why do you have it in your car?” Jesus wonders.

“Because my mom wanted Diet Coke but they were out, so I picked up this out of a vending machine and she didn’t want it.”

“Too bad for her…good for you, though…” he offers.

“I suppose.  Listen, I am really sorry.  This is the last thing I wanted to do.  I told myself I wasn’t gonna bother you today.”

“Stop.  I want you to bother me.  I always want that.  I told you yesterday that I’d come with you here, if you wanted.  I wasn’t kidding.  Stop apologizing.”

“It’s just…you’ve been dealing with so much.”

“And sometimes our stuff overlaps.  You obviously called me for some reason.  And I knew I might need backup, which is why I got my mom.  I didn’t wanna be telling you the wrong things to do.  I can handle myself.  When the pressure’s on.  When I have to act.  That feels normal to me.  Being at home, safe and comfortable is what doesn’t.”

“I called because Mariana said you outsmarted Him…so I thought…Jesus will know what to do…”

He smiles, just a little.  “Well, I don’t know about that.  But I tried.  And I’m glad you called.”

Pearl takes another breath. “I need to try to get home.”

“Will you call?  Let me know you got home okay?” he asks.

“Sure, if you want.  But then, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna crash.”

“Okay.  Drive safe.  If you need to pull over and call back, do it.  Don’t hesitate.  Don’t try to push through.”

“I will,” Pearl says.  “Or…I won’t…  Whatever’s appropriate.”

When Jesus hangs up with Pearl, he goes in the house to grab a notebook and a pen and ducks back out again.  Sits on the swing.  Writes:

_Dear Pearl,_

_Most people don’t know this but I have a hard time putting pen to paper.  I have a lot of scary memories that go with doing that.  But I wanted to write you because I know how important it can be to have proof of someone’s words and feelings especially after something tough._

_I carry important people’s words around with me: yours, Mari’s, Isaac’s.  This way, I hope you’ll be able to have my words to look back on if you’re ever scared again.  Getting your letter after I had a panic attack in the car really helped. I read it every day.  I want the same for you,_

_So, I hate that this happened to you, but you are every bit as strong and fearless as you ever were.  I don’t view you as weak or a horrible person.  Because your MY person, Pearl.  Your so important to me because you give me hope that I can grow up and be like you and maybe help someone like me who needs it._

_Please don’t get down on yourself,  You are so awesome, okay?  Believe that.  With freaking out.  With trauma.  With all that.  You don’t have to be perfect.  Because your just you and that’s enough._

_You are enough.  And I’ll always have your back._

_I care about you so much,_

_Jesus_

His phone pings with a message from Pearl.  It’s a house emoji, probably because there isn’t a cabin one.

Jesus doesn’t want Pearl to have to wait days for this letter so he snaps a pic of it and texts it to her.

Doesn’t hear back.  But he doesn’t really expect to.  She needs to rest.  And he needs to let her.  

He’ll check in with her tomorrow.

Jesus closes his eyes.  He hopes she’ll be a bit better by then.  He hates to see his friend having such a hard time.


	58. Chapter 58

By the time Jesus gets back inside after mailing Pearl’s letter, he can tell he’s in trouble.  It hasn’t taken long for the stress of the morning to catch up with him.  He sits down and eats breakfast - kinda late because he had to be there for Pearl - and the feeling of his skin crawling just won’t stop.

He tries to manage it.  To breathe.  To focus on food and eating, which usually help make everything more manageable.  But not this time.  Even having Pearl’s scarf on makes his anxiety spike, remembering how scared she was.  

Everybody’s kinda doing their own thing today, and that is usually enough to drive Jesus deeper inward.  To convince him that no one cares.  But his whole family, including Pearl, has proven that they do care.  They just can’t always tell by looking at him when something’s up.

They tried to tell him as much, it just never got in.  It wasn’t until he told Dr. H. and she responded, that it clicked in.  Even though it was Dr. H’s job to help Jesus figure out how he’s feeling and to talk about his trauma, she hadn’t known he was dealing with feeling wound up until he told her.

Jesus has been operating with the idea that He always knew what Jesus was feeling and just didn’t care.  Given that fact, Jesus has just assumed the opposite to also be true.  That if somebody truly cared about him, they’d know when he was having a hard time.

But he’s realizing that’s not really fair to expect.

Moms have a habit of telling him they can’t read his mind - or they don’t know he’s in trouble all the time unless he gives them a heads up - and this whole time?  That kinda stung.

Now, though?  He’s getting that they aren’t saying it just to hurt his feelings.  They’re saying it because it’s actually true.  He thinks about what he and Mama talked about on the porch.  About if she’d help him learn to talk first instead of turning all his bad feelings against himself.  She said she would, and when Jesus said he needed her to find him?  She had.

But this is a time when Jesus needs to take the first step, and trust that his family is gonna want to be there for him.  He looks around.  Everybody’s getting started on cleaning the house, and Jesus has to get someone’s attention soon.  Who’s closest?

“Hey, Jude…” he ventures.  Somewhere in the house, everybody can hear Mom breaking into The Beatles song.  His voice must carry pretty far if Mom could hear him from wherever she is.

Jude smirks, glancing at the ceiling above them.  “What’s up?” he asks, feather duster in hand. Jesus realizes it’s because Jude has Jesus’s chores for the week.  

“I need…” he starts, remembering far back, to when he first got home.  How Dr. H. had prompted him often to start important sentences with those two words.  Too bad she couldn’t have given Jesus the rest of the sentence to go with it.  He’s at a loss here.

Jude raises his eyebrows.

“I mean…could you help me out with something?” Jesus mumbles, fidgeting with the scarf.

“Yeah.  What?”

“Feeling kinda unsafe…” he admits.

“Oh.  Okay.  Porch?” Jude asks.  He’s totally at ease.  Not nervous like B or Callie.

“Yeah,” Jesus breathes, relieved.

Once they’re out there, Jude just stands with his hands on his hips.  “Do you need me to hold onto anything for you?”

Taking the hint, Jesus turns his pockets.  There’s nothing in them.

“What about that?” Jude gestures to Jesus’s head.

Jesus can’t help it.  He flinches.

“Sorry.  The pen.  Behind your ear.”

“I was writing Pearl with it,” Jesus says.  “I wasn’t…you know…”

“Okay.  Do you want me to hold onto it anyway?” Jude asks.

Jesus hands it over, even though he still feels small and annoying and like a burden.  Jude’s not treating him like one.

“What’s it…” Jude starts, and then stops himself.  “Sorry.  You don’t have to talk about it.”

“No.  What?  I  _wanna_  talk,” Jesus insists.

“What’s it feel like?” Jude asks carefully.

“Okay, maybe not about that…” Jesus admits.  It’s hard enough to keep from acting on his impulses without talking about how they feel.  He sits on the swing, all the way to one side, leaving room for Jude if he wants to sit, too.

He pauses.  Raises his eyebrows.  Waits for Jesus to nod.  

“Where do you feel it?” Jude asks, swinging them gently.

“Inside of my wrists…” Jesus admits.

“I have an idea.  Do you trust me?  That I’m not gonna hurt you?”

Jesus nods.

“Put out your arms.  You don’t have to look down, but you can if you want,” Jude advises.

Jesus keeps looking straight ahead, but his mind can’t wander because of the swing, and because Jude’s about to be doing God-knows-what to his arms.

“Can you take off your bracelets?” Jude asks.

“You’re pushing it…” Jesus warns, but takes them off.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.  I promise,” Jude says, so earnestly that for a second, Jesus thinks about Isaac.  Then, he thinks about what Brandon said.  About seven-year-old Jude, back in the day, covered with bruises.  He knows what it’s like to be hurt.

When a strange dull-sharp tickling starts on the inside of Jesus’s wrist, he almost jerks away, but forces himself to keep breathing.  “You gonna talk to me, or what?”

“About what?” Jude asks, distracted.

“What the hell are you doing to my wrists?” he asks lightly.

“There.  You can look,” Jude encourages after the same thing happens on Jesus’s other wrist.

Warily, he glances down.  On the sensitive skin of each wrist, Jude has written a word:

_Love_  is on the left, which got the brunt of the pain.   _Courage_  is on the right, the hand so often responsible for doing the damage.

Jesus clears his throat.

“Is it okay?” Jude wonders.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods, staring ahead of them.  He puts each bracelet back on carefully.  “Yeah, it’s okay.”

–

It’s dark when Pearl wakes up.  She’s starving but doesn’t feel like she can eat.  Gracie has to go out.  In a half-asleep daze, Pearl gets ready, and she gets the rude shock of full awareness when she steps out into the brutal cold.

She can’t talk to Gracie.  Can’t tell her to hurry.  Or make any conversation at all.  Everything feels fuzzy.  She’s sore.  Feels numb.  It’s not all that different from years ago, really.  Except no one had known a thing.  It had been a week until she told her mom.

It isn’t until she’s inside, and huddled under the heated blanket that Pearl thinks about checking her phone.  That she reads the letter from Jesus.  It’s everything she needs to know but nothing she can take in right now.

Just as Pearl closes her text, the phone rings in her hand.  

It’s Jesus.

She picks up.  Just listens.

“Hey,” he says.  “Are you okay?”

Pearl doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t say anything.  She’s used to being alone.  Being quiet.  Used to no one caring.  No one noticing.

“That’s okay,” he says.  “I’m glad you picked up.  I hope you got some rest.  And maybe read my letter…”

“I did,” she offers finally, her voice scratchy and deep.

“We don’t have to talk about anything unless you want to,” Jesus reassures. “I can just stay on the phone with you.”

Pearl sighs.  There’s nothing to say even if she wanted to.  She can’t offer anything.  It’s taking all of her energy just to keep being.  Thankfully, Jesus doesn’t push.  Doesn’t offer any empty platitudes or suggest what he might do in a similar situation.  Or tell her what she should do.  He does exactly what he said he would do and just sits with her.

“How was your day?” she finally asks.

“It was okay.  Are  _you_  okay?” he tries again.

“No,” she admits softly.  “It feels like everything just happened all over again.”

Jesus is quiet.  Listening.  He knows what it’s like.

“What helps?” he finally asks.

“Not being alone…but that’s all I want….and it’s not like I actually can deal with anyone being here…I think if someone came in right now I’d probably just lose it.”

“Well, nobody’s coming in.  Grandpa’s not in town til the summer.  So you’re good.  I can Skype?  If you wanna feel less alone?”

“You don’t want to see me like this…”  Pearl vows.

“I wanna see you however you are,” Jesus says quietly.  “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“I do…  Just do your best not to run away screaming…”

“I wouldn’t.  So, I can call you?  You’re ready?”

“As I’ll ever be…” Pearl sighs.

As soon as Jesus’s face fills her phone screen, Pearl feels herself falling apart. Tears spill down her cheeks.  He’s seen her break down enough today, but she honestly can’t help it.  Just having him here, asking about her and following through is enough to break her.

When she cries, he doesn’t look away.  He’s just there.  

“I don’t understand…” she manages.  “Why he gets to live his life like he’s done nothing wrong and I have to fight just to do what I have to every day…”

“It’s not fair,” Jesus agrees.  “You didn’t deserve what happened to you before and you didn’t deserve it today.”

“I’m so stupid…” Pearl moans.  

Gracie licks her face.  She hasn’t moved from her post on Pearl’s lap since after she came in and Pearl fed her supper.  Pearl still can’t eat.  It feels monumental.  Like a job that’s too big for her.  

“Don’t,” Jesus warns.  “Don’t do that.  You don’t want me blaming myself, right?  Well, it’s the same for you.  This was not your fault.”

“I wasn’t a child, Jesus.  I knew better.”

“You weren’t an adult.  He was.  He’s the asshole.  Not you.  It sucks right now.  I get that.  But that doesn’t change the facts.”

“That he’s an asshole?” Pearl checks, skeptical.

“Yeah. That he’s an asshole,” Jesus says, as confident as she’s seen him lately.  “Have you eaten?”

Pearl shakes her head.

“Food usually really helps.  Or something sweet.”

“I’m not drinking another Coke…” Pearl warns.

“No?  Well, what do you think about hot chocolate?  Don’t do the stove kind.  Just go warm up some water or milk or whatever in the microwave and dump the powdery stuff in.”

Pearl just stares at him.  She’s positive he doesn’t understand the gravity of what he’s asking.  But then, he starts talking again.

“Okay.  How about this.  Stand up?”  

Pearl does, blanket still around her.  And she’s more than a little stunned as Jesus gives her the most basic of instructions so she can get to the kitchen and eventually make herself an inferior cup of hot cocoa.

She settles back on the couch, sipping it.  Feeling a tiny bit better.  “You know the way this would be so much better?”

“A candy cane.  Dude, I know.  That’s the best way,” Jesus gushes, looking excited.

Pearl cracks a smile.  “No, not a candy cane, weirdo.  You.”

“Me?”

“Yes.  You, here next to me on the couch, having hot chocolate together.”

“That would be pretty ideal…” Jesus muses.  “I’m sorry this happened to you today.  And I’m sorry I can’t be there in person to help.”

“Hey…” she objects softly.  “You’re here.  You’re a person.  I’d say you qualify.”

“As long as you need,” he says, his eyes looking like he means what he’s saying from somewhere deep inside.

Pearl sighs again.  It seems like that’s the only thing she’s capable of doing, aside from taking tiny sips of hot chocolate.  The truth is, she’s not okay.  But, somewhere, she knows that it’s not about being okay.  It’s about having people around that you can trust to help you when you’re not.

“I hate him,” Pearl says sadly.

“I hate him, too,” Jesus agrees.

And Jesus keeps his word.  He’s on Skype with her long into the night, until she drifts off.  Until he does, too.  When she wakes up later, short of breath, she can see he’s awake too.

“It’s okay,” he tells her quietly.  “We’re okay.  We’re together, so we’re okay.”


	59. Chapter 59

Jesus is more than a little shocked when Frankie comes to his doorway and calls “Knock knock.”

“What is it, buddy?”  It’s after 7 PM, which means Frankie’s usually in bed.

“Moms say come down for ice cream if you want it,” she says.

Jesus comes out to the hall.  He hung up with Pearl a few minutes before.  She had insisted she would be okay and that she would call if she wasn’t.  So long as he has his phone on him, Jesus feels okay doing family stuff too.

“You’re up late,” he offers to Frankie, as she hands him a snack-size bag of Cheez Its and a small bottle of water.  He thinks it’s to carry while she goes down the stairs, but when they get to the bottom and he tries to give them back, Frankie shakes her head:

“I got those for you, buddy.  And I get to stay up because it’s the weekend.”

“Lucky,” Jesus offers.

He goes to the kitchen and sits down.  Everybody’s there.  It’s been awhile since they’ve all been in the same place together - or maybe it’s just been a while since they’ve hung out together and Jesus has been calm.  There are four pints of Haagen Dazs ice cream on the table: vanilla, chocolate, chocolate chip cookie dough and caramel cone.

Jesus gets that the idea is that two of them could share a container, but it’s super tempting just to get a spoon and dig in.  To eat one.  Or all four.  All by himself.

“Sit down, bud.  What looks good?” Mom asks.

“All of it,” he blurts.

They laugh, but it’s gentle.  He grabs a spoon and snags the caramel flavor.  He’s not a fan of caramel.  Probably, he’d go for any of the other flavors before he’d go for this one.  But he thinks about Isaac and how he talked about putting caramel on this big sundae he wanted to make, that he got the idea for by watching The Food Network.

Jesus wonders if that’s why The Food Network and The Cooking Channel are the only two channels he can watch without feeling panicky.  If knowing Isaac watched them is why they feel so much like coming home.

“You don’t like caramel, do you?” Mariana asks.

Jesus shrugs.  “Not sure…” he ventures.  “I guess I’ll see.”

He and Brandon end up splitting the caramel ice cream.  Jude and Mariana share the chocolate.  Mama and Frankie have cookie dough.  Mom and Callie share the “classic” vanilla.

“So, what’s up with the impromptu ice cream party?” Brandon asks.

“We haven’t had much family time lately,” Mom answers.

“You mean other than the week we just spent at Grandpa’s cabin?” Jude quips.

“That turned out to be quite stressful.  So Mama and I thought ice cream was less intense.  We just want to see your faces.”

Mariana and Frankie smile big at her, in unison.

“Do you like our faces?” Frankie asks beaming.

“I  _love_  them,” Mom insists, dramatically.

“So, Jesus, what’s the verdict on the caramel ice cream?” Mama asks.

“Mmm…” he mumbles, around a mouthful.

“It’s good,” Brandon supplies.  

“Anything anybody wants to share?” Mom tries.

“Anything  _you_  wanna share?” Mariana raises her eyebrows.

“Well, now that you ask…has anybody heard Brandon’s latest song?’

Jesus smirks.  Even though he was sure it had been a joke, he went to B’s channel and found a song simply titled,  _Jude_.  The music made Jesus think about a storm.  It was dark and angry but also kind of awesome.

“Me,” he raises his hand.  “It’s my new fav, bro,” he tells Brandon sincerely.  

“Thanks,” Jude complains from across the table.

“Hey, you should be happy.  You’re Brandon’s muse,” Callie reassures.

“Yeah, he wants to kick my…butt…” he amends, with a glance at Frankie.  “I’m really honored.”

“I wrote the song so I  _wouldn’t_  kick your butt, Jude.  You  _should_  be honored,” Brandon insists, digging the spoon into the bottom of the carton,  Then, he thinks better of it and offers it to Jesus, taking the spoon out altogether.

Jesus takes it.  Nods his thanks.

“What about me?  What did I do a good job at?” Frankie asks.

“You are an excellent reader,” Mama praises.  “Did you guys know Frankie’s reading?”

“Yeah,” Mariana nods.  “She, Callie and I have been working at it.  She’s really smart.”

“‘Cause I read all of  _Pinkalicious_ , right?” Frankie asks, basking in the praise.

“You did,” Mariana smiles.  

Jesus listens to Callie, Moms, and Mariana get built up for helping out, for working hard, and for good grades and then offers.  “Jude helped me out today.”

“We’re glad to hear that.  We always want you guys to support each other.”

“Well, Jesus came to me and told me.  Which seemed like it was kinda hard to do but he still did it,” Jude offers, licking his spoon.  

“No big deal,” Jesus insists, a habit.

“Um…yes, big deal,” Mariana counters.  “It’s so hard to ask for help and especially if you’ve known that you can’t for some reason.”

“Honey?” Mama asks, looking at Jesus.  “How’s Pearl?”  

“She’s okay,” he nods.  She’s not, but it’s not exactly conversation Pearl would want him having with everybody in his family.

“What’s wrong with Pearl?” Frankie asks, curious.  “Is she sad Gracie got hurt?”

“Gracie’s not hurt.  Somebody scared Pearl today,” Jesus allows.

“Like a bad guy?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah.  But she’s safe.  You don’t have to worry,” Jesus tells her.

“She should carry pepper spray,” Jude muses.

“She shouldn’t have to carry pepper spray,” Mariana objects.  “Just to feel safe walking around.”

“I think she actually  _does_  carry it…” Jesus muses. He seems to remember one of their earliest conversations involving Pearl showing off her lighted hat, and her mace.  “Can we stop talking about her when she’s not here, though?”

“You’re right,” Mama nods.  “Who else has something they’d like to talk about?”

Jesus gets up and walks across the kitchen to the printer.  He picks out a stack of plain white paper and brings it back with a pencil.  Starts drawing.

“You okay?” Brandon asks, as the conversation picks up again.  

Jesus half listens.  Nods.  For once, this isn’t an impulse-rerouting thing.  He just needs to draw.

Frankie’s claimed some paper, too, and a box of crayons from a drawer in the kitchen.  Jesus is drawing with one arm around his work.  Doesn’t need anybody seeing it and commenting.

He draws the outside first: plain, white, old.  Average.  No way to know what’s going on behind the closed doors or windows.  No basement windows at all.  Jesus has drawn the outside like it’s one of those hidden doors.  Or like a dollhouse front that swings open to reveal all the rooms inside just behind it.

This time, though, there’s only one room shown behind the front of the house:  he draws the outline of a pole.  Of chains.  Of a mattress in the corner.  Then, he shades as hard as he can with the pencil to convey just how dark it was. He uses the eraser to trace the word disappear as he’d spelled it Then:  _DISUPHERE_.  The name  _Josh_  is everywhere, too, on every wall.

Brandon shifts in his seat.  Scoots his chair back.  Without looking up, Jesus puts a hand on his.  He needs him to stay.  He’s the only one with an eyeline to what exactly Jesus is drawing, and he doesn’t want to be alone with it.  To B’s credit, he just inches the chair in again.  Watches.  Doesn’t comment or make anybody else look their way.

When Jesus is done, he slips the drawing under the table and passes it to Brandon.  Brandon looks at it, and then at Jesus with raised eyebrows.

“I Facebooked you,” Jesus says under his breath.  “For Mom’s birthday.  It was, like, six months before I got away…”

Jesus isn’t sure why but he just needs B to know this.  He’s seen the picture on the wall by the stairs, of all six sibs, including Mari holding a framed pic of him.  Has a feeling Callie took it.  Or was behind the taking.  That B was behind the asking her.  What they’ve never known is that Jesus - as Josh - had been behind the suggesting of it all along.

Brandon looks confused.  Then like he’s thinking hard.  Then he blinks at the drawing under the table.  The name on all the walls.

“That’s right.  God, that’s right…”  B looks like he’s seen a ghost.  Gets up and walks to the living room.  Sits on the couch.

Jesus trails him.  “You okay?  Sorry…just…I saw the picture on the wall, like a month ago?  Not that I hadn’t seen it before then, but that time.  Something about the timing of it got me.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know it was you…” Brandon apologizes.  There are tears in his eyes.

“No.  Dude.  This wasn’t about you feeling guilty.  Not for me.  I just…wanted you to know that I really love that picture.  And it means a lot that you took my advice.  So it was kinda like I was here for Mom’s birthday, after all.”

Brandon pats the couch next to him.  “You were here for everything.  We always thought about you.  When Jude turned eight, I couldn’t not think about you and Mariana turning eight.  When I brought Callie to all her sixth grade classes,  I wondered who was going to take you to yours.”

Jesus sighs.  “Nobody.  I got there.  But, it helps…to know you thought about me…  I couldn’t think about you guys.  Not for a long time…’cause you know…it hurt too much.”

“Hey.  No judgment.  If you needed to not think of us in order to make it out, then I’m glad you did it that way.”

“I know living with me isn’t always easy…”

“It’s a hell of a lot easier than living without you…” Brandon offers, his voice thick.

Jesus pats him on the back once.  It’s tentative, but it’s there.  He has to do something.

“Hey…  What do you want me to do with this?” he asks, holding out Jesus’s drawing of super hell.

“Keep it.  Throw it.  Just don’t hang it on the fridge or sell it to a tabloid or bring it to Anchor Beach.” Jesus says.

“I might keep it…if you’re sure you’re okay with it…” Brandon checks.

“Yeah, I am,” Jesus nods.  “ _I_  don’t want it.”

“So how’s your - you know - feelings?” Brandon tries, nodding at Jesus’s wrists.

“I mean, they’re there…” Jesus admits.  The scarf is still in place.  He holds onto it pretty much all the time.  And it doesn’t leave gnarly indents in his skin.  Just the memory of a friend who loved him enough to make him something that might make coping easier.  “But I haven’t acted on anything.”

“How long?” Brandon wonders.  “Can I ask?”

“More than 48 hours,” Jesus admits.

“Jesus, that should have gotten you the entire pint of caramel cone!  You need to let me know these things before I ravenously eat everything in sight…”

“I can’t really see food as a reward for stuff, though.  Wrong context.  Kinda messes with my head.”

“Oh,” Brandon manages.  “Right.  Well.  Happy Two Days, then.  Just keep it up.  And know we’re here.  If you need us.”

“Yeah.  I know,” Jesus says.

–

Brandon goes to his room with Jesus’s drawing of the house.  He needs to put it somewhere before Jude gets up here.   Slides out the manila envelope he’s kept under his mattress since the day Jesus went missing.  Reaches to the bottom of it, and his hand closes around what he knows he’ll find.

Pale pink shoelaces that Jesus had begged for the previous year.  Brandon had no idea what third grade boy would actually want pink shoelaces, but Jesus had.  Mariana had a matching pair of laces.  They claimed it was for luck.  And Brandon had teased Jesus mercilessly for it.  But Jesus wore them to school every single day of third grade.  When fourth grade started, Jesus’s feet had outgrown those shoes.

“ _What?_ ” Brandon had taunted him the Tuesday morning before his abduction.  “ _No pink shoelaces?_ ”

“ _I don’t need luck_ ,” Jesus shrugged, cocky like he could be sometimes back then.

But when Jesus went missing three days later, Brandon unlaced his shoes and kept the laces, knowing his brother needed all the luck in the world if he was gonna make it back.

Brandon touches them almost reverently.  He’s not in sixth grade anymore.  And he’s lived way too much real life to believe in magic, but they did mean something.  Part of Brandon still believes that keeping them safe had a hand in Jesus making it back.

Gently, Brandon slips the drawing of the house into the envelope, with Jesus’s lucky shoelaces.  Tucks it back under the mattress.

Then, it’s back downstairs to be with his family.


	60. Chapter 60

It’s 10 PM before everybody goes to bed.  Mom made time to take care of his bandaids.  Every night, it feels like a surprise, to be honest.  Jesus keeps assuming she’ll forget.  Or think doing this is making too big a deal out of it.  But she says it isn’t like that.  And afterward, they walk the house and make sure every door and every window is locked tight.

“Good night,” he offers Mom softly, giving her a hug.

It’s getting easier, the more he does it.  And it helps him to be able to accept hugs, too.  Feels affirming.  Like he matters.  Knowing that, he goes to find Mama, and gives her one, too.  He kisses his palm and and lays it on Frankie’s sleeping forehead, as Mariana carries her up to bed.  He circles around behind Mariana, and embraces her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.  

“What’s this for?” she asks, leaning back into the embrace.

Jesus doesn’t say anything.  Just holds onto her, until he feels like she’s ready to be let go.

Then, it’s back to his room, to check on Pearl.  It’ll be after midnight there, but Jesus is guessing she’s probably not getting much sleep tonight.  So, he’ll call.  If her volume’s down, and she’s sleeping, but if she’s up, he’ll be able to let her know he’s there.

–

Pearl’s wide awake and staring at her phone when Jesus calls.

“Hey.  Are you okay?” she greets.

“Yeah.  You?” he checks.

“Not really.  Can’t sleep.  Can’t relax.  I tried swinging and journaling.  Nothing’s working.”

“Huh.  What if I tell you a really boring story?” he asks.  

“Jesus, everything you’ve ever told me?  None of it qualifies as boring.”

“Uh-oh.  What should we do, then?” he asks seriously.

“What did you do tonight?  You’re up late.”

“We had ice cream as a family, and just kinda hung out together.”

“That’s so sweet…” Pearl sighs.  “You guys are like a sitcom family.  Like the Bradys or something…”

“The who?”

“Never mind.  I wish my family did those kinds of things.”

“We do,” Jesus adds without missing a beat.

“God, are you trying to make me cry right now?”

“No, it’s just…I meant it when I said you’re family.  I feel like you’re my older sister.  Like, we have Callie, but she’s practically our same age.  With you…it feels different…”

“Because I’m ancient?” Pearl remarks.

“Because you look out for me.  Because you feel adopted into our family.  It makes sense you don’t live with us because you’re old enough to be on your own. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a home with us.”

Pearl wipes her eyes.  “I don’t know how you can make me feel things like this on such a horrid day…”

“It’s not, though,” he offers.  “For you, it’s a new day, right?  So you can start fresh.  The fam asked about you tonight, BTW.”

“They did?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell them I was a hot mess?”

“No.  You’re not.  How  _are_  you feeling, though?” Jesus checks, thinking about Brandon’s question to him.

“Exhausted.  Shaky.  Emotional.  But kind of okay for the moment…Hey, I have a strange request?”

“What?” Jesus asks.

“Could you stay on the phone with me?  I’m about to nod off.  But I hate sleeping and feeling on my own…”

“Yeah.  I’ll be here.  And Gracie will be there, right?”

“She is right here, crushing me with her full weight.”

“Gracie, I love you,” Jesus smiles.  “And don’t worry.  I’ll be here.  I’ll always be here,” he promises.

And even though, five minutes ago, sleep felt impossible, Pearl finds her guard is down enough to drift off, knowing Jesus is here with her.

–

The house is quiet.  It’s the kind of quiet that would usually set Jesus on edge, but now it just feels peaceful.  It’s 11:30.  No one is awake.  Everybody’s still trying to get all the sleep they can since being back in school and work.

Jesus walks the house, loving that it finally feels like home.  It finally feels familiar.  For the moment, the nightmares have faded, and he can just be here.  He walks to the kitchen, searching for paper again.  There’s none in the printer anymore, because Jesus had grabbed the whole stack to bring to the table earlier tonight.

He turns a slow circle.  Doesn’t see crayons or paper or anything there anymore.  But a glance straight ahead reveals that Moms have put the paper on a shelf above the printer.  Crayons are on top of it.  Jesus tries to shimmy the paper out from under the crayons, but the box falls, along with the stuff that was beneath it.

Jesus listens, hoping he didn’t just wake up Mom, the lightest sleeper in the world.  But there’s no sound like that.  He glances at his phone, listens.  Pearl’s deep, even breathing is there, proving that somehow, she hadn’t been startled awake either.

“Amazing,” he mutters under his breath and bends down to start picking up the few crayons that spilled out of the box.  He’s just put the yellow back where it goes, when something else catches his eye, along with the sheets of plain white paper, magazines and mail.

It’s a book.  Small.  Black.  With a little strap to hold it closed.  Except the strap came off the pages in its fall from the shelf.  It’s open, face down on the floor, and Jesus picks it up, so the covers close.  He’s about to put the little elastic back in place when curiosity has him flipping open the cover.  Past it.  To the first page:

_Sunday, September 9, 2007_

_Dear Jesus,_

_I know you’ll be home soon.  I am just making sure you know that we remember it was your turn to pick the movie.  We can watch The Pacifier as much as you want when you come home, okay, bud?  Just come home._

_Love, Mama_

Jesus is breathless.  It’s like stepping back in time.  He had forgotten all about loving that ridiculous Vin Diesel movie.  Picking it every time it was his turn to pick a movie.  

“God, Pearl, you’ll never guess what I found…” he mutters quietly, flipping a page:

_Wednesday, October 31, 2007_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Happy Halloween, buddy.  Mariana dressed up as Gabriela from High School Musical tonight.  Brandon was a zombie.   Mom and I didn’t dress up, but I know you probably have suggestions for what we should have been.   B and Mariana counted up all their candy tonight, and set aside their Junior Mints for you.  Come home quick so you can eat them, okay?  I am sending you so much love tonight.  Hoping you get to eat lots of candy and treats.  We can’t wait to see your face again._

_Love, Mama_

Jesus wipes his eyes.  It’s crazy just how easy he can picture Mariana and Brandon and nine and eleven, Trick or Treating in this neighborhood.  Jesus still can’t remember any times Trick or Treating before then, but his giant smile in pictures between kindergarten and third grade give a pretty strong indication that Halloween had been something that Jesus used to seriously dig.

_Thursday, November 22, 2007_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Happy Thanksgiving.  We miss you so much.  We made LOTS of mashed potatoes for you because we know you love them.  We visited Grandma and Grandpa Adams.  They miss you very much.  Grandma saved the turkey picture from the paper for you and Mari to color together.  Brandon did it with her this year, but we know there will be lots of turkeys to color when you come home._

_Love, Mama_

Thanksgiving was still one of the most awful holidays to look back on, but Mama writing this made him think of great smells.  Of family.  It made him glad they hadn’t forgotten about him.

_Monday, December 24, 2007_

_Dear Jesus,_

_In my letter to him I asked Santa if you could come home for Christmas.  He didn’t write back yet but fingers crossed.  I love you.  Love Mariana._

Jesus clears his throat.  The last thing he expected to find in here was a letter from little Mariana.  He thought this was just Mama’s thing.  Jesus wonders how Mariana found it.  Pictures her writing in it with no one knowing and putting it back.

_Tuesday, December 25, 2007_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Merry Christmas.  We are thinking about you every minute._

_Love, Mama_

Jesus wonders about the lack of detail.  What is Mama not saying?  What happened that year at Christmas?

He flips a page and realizes they’ve jumped ahead five months:

_Saturday, May 17, 2008_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Happy birthday.  Hard to believe you and Mariana are 10 years old already.  Double digits.  Mariana didn’t want a cake or presents this year but we are doing our best to make sure she knows she is special and loved.  I hope you always know we love you._

_Love Mama_

_Dear Jesus,_

_I love you forever.  Love Mom_

_Jesus,_

_It’s Brandon your brother.  Happy birthday we miss you.  Hope your having a good day.  Bye._

_Happy birthday, Jesus.  Santa did not listen to me.  Can you believe that?  I can’t.  Now that we are 10, maybe that will make a difference.  I am asking again that you can come back for our birthday.  That would be the best present._

_Love, Mariana_

Jesus chokes out a laugh at Mariana, so offended that Santa hadn’t done what she asked and sent him home for Christmas.  Honestly, it would have been so ideal.  Only 2 months of basement super hell to get over and a month or so of school and one other time Down There.  Hardly anything comparatively.

_Tuesday, July 1, 2008_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Two years ago, you and Mariana made me a mom and I am so thankful.  I need you to know, honey, that wherever you are, and whatever is happening, it’s okay.  It’s not your fault.  I will always want you.  I will always love you.  We just want you home._

_Love, Mama_

Jesus’s nose is burning.  His throat feels tight.  This thing Mama wrote?  It’s almost exactly what she used to say to him inside his head.  Even when the worst stuff was happening.  Back Then, it had been a way he coped, but it fills some empty place in him that Mama really felt this way.

_Sunday, September 7, 2008_

_You have been missing for one year now.  That’s long enough.  You should come back now.  I know I am not always nice to you but I will be I promise.  PS I wrote a song for you.  It doesn’t have a title. It’s just my feelings.  It’s on piano and there aren’t words.  I did not tell Moms or Mariana yet, just you.  It might be the best thing I ever wrote but I don’t care.  I just want you to come home._

_Brandon_

Jesus is seriously curious about the song reference.  He thinks it’s probably Invisible Boy, but isn’t sure.  Since that one didn’t go up on B’s YouTube until almost a year later.  Brandon’s entry makes him sad.  It sucks they had to be without each other for so long.

_Dear Jesus,_

_Happy Halloween 2008.  This year B and Mariana claimed they were old enough to go Trick or Treating by themselves.  Just between you and me, Mama and I walked behind them dressed as Catwoman and Batgirl.  We stayed back pretty far and your brother and sister did not notice us.  Brandon was Indiana Jones and Mariana was Hannah Montana.  You’ve got quite the collection of Junior Mints going, young man.  You best come home so you can eat them, yes?_

_I love you,_

_Mom_

Jesus can’t help but smile at the thought of Moms tailing Mariana and B as they went out Trick or Treating, dressed as superheroes.  What would Jesus have gone as that year?  And why didn’t anybody save him their Junior Mints last Halloween?

_Tuesday, November 11, 2008_

_Seriously, hurry up and get back here.  Moms just brought home two new kids.  I’d rather have you. Oh, and in case you are not keeping up with current events - Barack Obama just got elected president last week._

_Brandon_

Jesus raises his eyebrows.  It never occurred to him that Brandon and Mari wouldn’t be down with Callie and Jude moving in.  It makes him feel weirdly happy.  Like they didn’t forget him.  And Jesus did know about Barack Obama.  Had wanted him to win mostly because He said the rudest things about him.  Which, to ten-year-old Jesus, meant that Obama was probably the guy who should win.  And he’d been glad.  But quietly.

_Sunday, May 17, 2009_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Eleven years old and I can hardly believe it.  I wonder how you look now.  If you’d be growing tall like Mariana or taking your time, like you do.  Mariana was more open to celebrating this year and we had a pizza party with some of her friends from school - like Lexi - you remember her, right?  I love you, Jesus.  Happy birthday._

_Love Mama_

_Dear Jesus,_

_New wheels for your skateboard, my baby.  Get back here so you can tear up our kitchen floor, please.  Mama misses the sound and so do I.  Love Mom_

_Deer Heyzoose i am Jude i am 8 i am your Foster borther.  Happy Bearthday Love Jude_

_Jesus,_

_My name is Callie.  I am 11 too.  It is a good age.  I hope you come back soon.  Happy birthday._

_I hate that you’re not here._

_B_

_Happy birthday, Jesus.  I hope you are not mad that I had a party without you.  I still thought about you.  I still want you to come home even more than I want make up and stuff.  This morning, me and Moms went out and let some balloons go.  They are orange.  If you see them, they are from us.  I love you._

_Mari_

It’s super weird to have Callie and Jude leaving him birthday messages when, at this point, Jesus hadn’t even known who they were.  Brandon’s broke his heart.  And he wished like hell he had known to scan the sky for orange balloons…

_Friday, October 16, 2009_

_Dear Jesus,_

_I have a secret:  you are going to have a new brother or sister.  I’m pregnant.  You’re the first one of the kids I am telling.  I hope this is good news for you.  It doesn’t mean we are forgetting you or replacing you.  I hope you are home soon, buddy, because our family isn’t complete without you._

_Love, Mama_

Jesus feels his heart flutter in his chest.  He touches the words carefully.  Frankie existed, and Jesus was the first one of the kids Mama told.  He flips through a few more entries about how the baby is growing.  Then, suddenly, it’s April.

_Friday, April 2, 2010_

_  
Jesus,_

_The baby was born this morning.  She is really early and tiny.  Her name is Francesca Rose.  We don’t know if she will make it.  Wherever you are can you send good energy to her?  To us?  I know its selfish but we really need it.  I can’t lose another sibling even though I still know you’re out there and you will come home.  Just please, Jesus, I’m talking to you in your head, but you haven’t talked back.  I want her to make it.  I want you to meet her.  
Mariana_

Jesus hasn’t really gotten many details about Frankie’s birth since he’s been back.  Knowing this, makes him feel like he was involved.  Important.  Like they needed him.  He imagined Frankie, small and helpless.  When the next page showed a photocopy of her impossibly tiny handprint, Jesus knew his imagination didn’t come close to creating a mental picture of how tiny she was.

_Monday, May 17, 2010_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Frankie is six weeks and one day old today.  She is still in the hospital.  She will be there for a while until she’s big enough to go home.  I don’t want to do anything for our birthday.  I just want to be at the hospital with her all day long.  You would think 12 year olds would get to do that but no.  We are still minors.  And I still have to go to school.  Ew.  Happy birthday, Jesus.  I hope we can see each other someday._

_Love, Mari_

_Friday, July 2, 2010_

_Dear Jesus,_

_Guess what?  Frankie got to come home today!  She is three months old and seven pounds.  Almost like a newborn finally.  I am so glad she is home.  The only day better than this will be when you come home._

_Love, Mariana_

Jesus feels cold.  July, 2010 was less than a month after Isaac.  It was such a dark time for him.  So weird that back at home, his fam’s lives were being brightened by Frankie, while Jesus was still just trying to do as much as he could to disappear.

Flipping to the next page, though, makes a smile break across his face.  There’s a picture paperclipped there: awesome baby Frankie, on her first birthday, covered in cake.  Her huge brown eyes staring at the camera.  In the background, there was their photo wall, and the picture of Jesus they used for all the missing posters was behind her.

_Tuesday, May 17, 2011_

_Jesus,_

_We’re 13 now.  You need to come home.  Because it’s getting hard for Moms to believe it will still happen.  I can’t explain it, but I feel it will happen.  Even if they think I am crazy I know I’m not.  I know you’ll come home.  Happy birthday._

_Monday, October 3, 2011_

_Dear Jesus,_

_I told Frankie about you and she walked around looking for you all weekend.  Because she saw a picture of you and thought you were Brandon.  I couldn’t let her think that, so I told her you were her brother.  She said, “Buddy?” It was so cute.  She kept looking for her buddy.  The only bad thing is Mom got mad at me for telling her about you.  She thinks it will scare her or something.  She is losing hope, Jesus.  You have to prove her wrong, okay?  Please._

_Mariana_

Jesus can remember this date.  Because it’s when He took the third kid.  Jesus remembers it clearly.  It’s when he knew for sure that something needed to happen.  That he needed to start really thinking about getting away.  And back in San Diego, Mariana was telling Frankie about him.  And Mom was losing hope.  Ten days later couldn’t come fast enough…

And then, just like that, it’s there, with the flip of a page:

_Thursday, October 13, 2011_

_10:33 PM_

_Dear Jesus,_

_I can hardly believe I am writing this, but you are coming home!  I love you so much, honey. I can’t wait to see you.  This is everything I’ve ever dreamed but never dared to hope for.  Counting down the hours til I can hold you again.  I love you so much._

_Welcome home._

_Love, Mama_

Jesus has a lump the size of Texas in his throat.  He flips the journal to a blank page and writes two words under the date:

_Sunday, January 12, 2015_

_Thank you._

Then, carefully, he closes the book, and puts it back on the shelf, knowing that they’ll find it when they most need it.

After all, Jesus had.


End file.
